Monsieur Lépine was incensed at the detective's calm.
"You know it! You know it!" he grumbled, "and the administration knows nothing about!... Well, since you know so much, what is he doing here your king?"
"He comes to see me."
"Juve, you are mad!"
"No, Monsieur, But."...
Juve cut short the conversation, approached the king, and said a few words to him in a low voice.
The chief commissioner of police was surprised beyond words when he saw the king listening attentively to what Juve had to say, then nod acquiescence, leave the ballroom and enter the gallery on to which several rooms opened, including the library at the far end.
Juve glanced discreetly at his watch. He was startled. His expression altered. It grew severe, determined. He glanced about him, discovered de Naarboveck not far off, and went up to him.
"Monsieur de Naarboveck," he said: "shall we have a few minutes' talk? Not here—somewhere else.... Should we say?"...
"In my library?" proposed de Naarboveck, who looked the detective up and down—a measuring glance, cold, contemptuous. Their glances crossed, hard, menacing.