“Yes. And a little way from the house he threw away his cigarette. The scavenger thought the whole business a little queer, and he picked up the cigarette and kept it. Here it is.”
He handed it to Guerchard, whose eyes scanned it carelessly and then glued themselves to it.
“A gold-tipped cigarette ... marked Mercedes ... Why, your Grace, this is one of your cigarettes!”
“But this is incredible!” cried the Duke.
“Not at all,” said Guerchard. “It’s merely another link in the chain. I’ve no doubt you have some of these cigarettes at Charmerace.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve had a box on most of the tables,” said the Duke.
“Well, there you are,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, I see what you’re driving at,” said the Duke. “You mean that one of the Charolais must have taken a box.”
“Well, we know that they’d hardly stick at a box of cigarettes,” said Guerchard.
“Yes ... but I thought ...” said the Duke; and he paused.