“When did he say he would return?”
“He said in two weeks. He has another week yet.”
“Is he usually prompt?”
“Always so—to the minute.”
“That is good news,” I said, gayly. “But tell me one thing: do you trust Mademoiselle Elven?”
“Yes, indeed!—indeed!” she cried, horrified.
“Very well,” said I, smiling. “Only for the sake of caution—extra, and even perhaps useless caution—say nothing of this matter to her, nor to any living soul save me.”
“I promise,” she said, faintly.
“One thing more: this conspiracy against the state no longer concerns me—officially. Both Speed and I did all we could to warn the Emperor and the Empress; we sent letters through the police in London, we used the English secret-service to get our letters into the Emperor’s hand, we tried every known method of denouncing Mornac. It was useless; every letter must have gone through Mornac’s hands before it reached the throne. We did all we dared do; we were in disguise and in hiding under assumed names; we could not do more.
“Now that Mornac is not even a pawn in the game—as, indeed, I begin to believe he never really was, but has been from the first a dupe of Buckhurst—it is the duty of every honest man to watch Buckhurst and warn the authorities that he possibly has designs on the crown jewels of France, which that cruiser yonder is all ready to bear away to Saïgon.