“Certainly this time the luck is hers,” said I; “but this will not satisfy them.”
“No. More than once since they have been over the house and garden and utterly devastated it, so says her nurse. They searched a tool-house and a small conservatory. Madame Bellegarde has been cool enough to go there for flowers, but is in the utmost apprehension. And now ten days have passed.”
“Is that all?”
“No. She has been questioned pretty brutally over and over, but as yet they have not searched her town house. They are sure that the papers are in the villa.”
“Well, what next?” I asked.
“She says we must get those papers. That is our business.”
“It will be difficult,” I returned; “and there should be no delay. It must be done, and done soon. You or I would have found her cache.”
“No, I should not; but if those people are still in doubt, as seems to be the case, and decide that no one but a fool would have burned the documents, some fellow with a little more imaginative capacity to put himself in her place will find them.
“By the way,” added Merton, “she described the house to me. Now let us think it over. I shall be here at nine to-morrow morning. When I return, you will give me your own thoughts about it. Given a house already watched day and night, how to get a paper out of it? No one will be allowed to leave it without being overhauled. The old nurse, you may be sure, will be searched and followed, even when she goes to market. To communicate with madame would not be easy, and would give us no further help and only hurt her. It is so grave a matter that the police, after another search, will arrest Mme. Bellegarde secretly and, if possible, scare her into confession. We have no time to lose. It must be done, too, in some simple way. For her sake we must avoid violence, and whatever is done must be done by us.”