M. Formery folded his arms and walked, frowning, backwards and forwards across the room.
He stopped, raised his hand with a gesture commanding attention, and said, “I have no hesitation in saying that there is a connection—an intimate connection—between the thefts at Charmerace and this burglary!”
The Duke and the inspector gazed at him with respectful eyes—at least, the eyes of the inspector were respectful; the Duke’s eyes twinkled.
“I am gathering up the threads,” said M. Formery. “Inspector, bring up the concierge and his wife. I will question them on the scene of the crime. Their dossier should be here. If it is, bring it up with them; if not, no matter; bring them up without it.”
The inspector left the drawing-room. M. Formery plunged at once into frowning meditation.
“I find all this extremely interesting,” said the Duke.
“Charmed! Charmed!” said M. Formery, waving his hand with an absent-minded air.
The inspector entered the drawing-room followed by the concierge and his wife. He handed a paper to M. Formery. The concierge, a bearded man of about sixty, and his wife, a somewhat bearded woman of about fifty-five, stared at M. Formery with fascinated, terrified eyes. He sat down in a chair, crossed his legs, read the paper through, and then scrutinized them keenly.
“Well, have you recovered from your adventure?” he said.
“Oh, yes, sir,” said the concierge. “They hustled us a bit, but they did not really hurt us.”