“Well, see that I don’t go without them. Now hurry up. Firmin, go and tell Jean that we shall want both cars. I will drive one, the Duke the other. Jean must stay with you and help guard the château.” So saying he bustled out of the hall, driving the two girls before him. CHAPTER VI AGAIN THE CHAROLAIS Hardly had the door closed behind the millionaire when the head of M. Charolais appeared at one of the windows opening on to the terrace. He looked round the empty hall, whistled softly, and stepped inside. Inside of ten seconds his three sons came in through the windows, and with them came Jean, the millionaire’s chauffeur. “Take the door into the outer hall, Jean,” said M. Charolais, in a low voice. “Bernard, take that door into the drawing-room. Pierre and Louis, help me go through the drawers. The whole family is going to Paris, and if we’re not quick we shan’t get the cars.” “That comes of this silly fondness for warning people of a coup,” growled Jean, as he hurried to the door of the outer hall. “It would have been so simple to rob the Paris house without sending that infernal letter. It was sure to knock them all silly.” “What harm can the letter do, you fool?” said M. Charolais. “It’s Sunday. We want them knocked silly for to-morrow, to get hold of the coronet. Oh, to get hold of that coronet! It must be in Paris. I’ve been ransacking this château for hours.” Jean opened the door of the outer hall half an inch, and glued his eyes to it. Bernard had done the same with the door opening into the drawing-room. M. Charolais, Pierre, and Louis were opening drawers, ransacking them, and shutting them with infinite quickness and noiselessly. “Bureau! Which is the bureau? The place is stuffed with bureaux!” growled M. Charolais. “I must have those keys.” “That plain thing with the brass handles in the middle on the left—that’s a bureau,” said Bernard softly. “Why didn’t you say so?” growled M. Charolais. He dashed to it, and tried it. It was locked. “Locked, of course! Just my luck! Come and get it open, Pierre. Be smart!” The son he had described as an engineer came quickly to the bureau, fitting together as he came the two halves of a small jemmy. He fitted it into the top of the flap. There was a crunch, and the old lock gave. He opened the flap, and he and M. Charolais pulled open drawer after drawer. “Quick! Here’s that fat old fool!” said Jean, in a hoarse, hissing whisper. He moved down the hall, blowing out one of the lamps as he passed it. In the seventh drawer lay a bunch of keys. M. Charolais snatched it up, glanced at it, took a bunch of keys from his own pocket, put it in the drawer, closed it, closed the flap, and rushed to the window. Jean and his sons were already out on the terrace. M. Charolais was still a yard from the window when the door into the outer hall opened and in came M. Gournay-Martin.