“Then you’ve made inquiries regarding Monsieur Dumont and his mysterious disappearance?”
“Of course. That’s why I went.”
“And were they satisfactory? I mean did you discover whether Mademoiselle has told the truth?” I asked anxiously.
“She told you the exact truth. Her father, her lover, and the jewels are missing. Scotland Yard, at the express request of the Paris police, are preserving the secret. Not a syllable has been allowed to leak out to the Press. For that very reason I altered my plans.”
“And what do you now intend to do?”
“Not quite so fast, my dear Ewart. Just wait and see,” answered the man who had re-entered France by the back door.
And by midnight “Monsieur Charles Bellingham, de Londres,” was sleeping soundly in his room in the Hôtel de Paris at Monte Carlo.