The inspector called up the two policemen, who had been freeing the concierge and going through the rooms on the ground-floor. They did not then examine any more of the rooms on the first floor to discover if they also had been plundered. They went straight up to the top of the house, the servants’ quarters.
The inspector called, “Victoire! Victoire!” two or three times; but there was no answer.
They opened the door of room after room and looked in, the inspector taking the rooms on the right, the policemen the rooms on the left.
“Here we are,” said one of the policemen. “This room’s been recently occupied.” They looked in, and saw that the bed was unmade. Plainly Victoire had slept in it.
“Where can she be?” said the Duke.
“Be?” said the inspector. “I expect she’s with the burglars—an accomplice.”
“I gather that M. Gournay-Martin had the greatest confidence in her,” said the Duke.
“He’ll have less now,” said the inspector drily. “It’s generally the confidential ones who let their masters down.”
The inspector and his men set about a thorough search of the house. They found the other rooms undisturbed. In half an hour they had established the fact that the burglars had confined their attention to the two drawing-rooms. They found no traces of them; and they did not find Victoire. The concierge could throw no light on her disappearance. He and his wife had been taken by surprise in their sleep and in the dark.
They had been gagged and bound, they declared, without so much as having set eyes on their assailants. The Duke and the inspector came back to the plundered drawing-room.