“That won’t do,” said the millionaire. “Germaine won’t go in the limousine. You know she has taken a dislike to it.” “Nevertheless, I’d better bucket on to Paris, and let you follow slowly with Germaine. The sooner I get to Paris the better for your collection. I’ll take Mademoiselle Kritchnoff with me, and, if you like, Irma, though the lighter I travel the sooner I shall get there.” “No, I’ll take Irma and Germaine,” said the millionaire. “Germaine would prefer to have Irma with her, in case you had an accident. She wouldn’t like to get to Paris and have to find a fresh maid.” The drawing-room door opened, and in came Germaine, followed by Sonia and Irma. They wore motor-cloaks and hoods and veils. Sonia and Irma were carrying hand-bags. “I think it’s extremely tiresome your dragging us off to Paris like this in the middle of the night,” said Germaine pettishly. “Do you?” said the millionaire. “Well, then, you’ll be interested to hear that I’ve just seen a burglar here in this very room. I frightened him, and he bolted through the window on to the terrace.” “He was greenish-pink, slightly tinged with yellow,” said the Duke softly. “Greenish-pink? Oh, do stop your jesting, Jacques! Is this a time for idiocy?” cried Germaine, in a tone of acute exasperation. “It was the dim light which made your father see him in those colours. In a bright light, I think he would have been an Alsatian blue,” said the Duke suavely. “You’ll have to break yourself of this silly habit of trifling, my dear Duke, if ever you expect to be a member of the Academie Française,” said the millionaire with some acrimony. “I tell you I did see a burglar.” “Yes, yes. I admitted it frankly. It was his colour I was talking about,” said the Duke, with an ironical smile. “Oh, stop your idiotic jokes! We’re all sick to death of them!” said Germaine, with something of the fine fury which so often distinguished her father. “There are times for all things,” said the millionaire solemnly. “And I must say that, with the fate of my collection and of the coronet trembling in the balance, this does not seem to me a season for idle jests.” “I stand reproved,” said the Duke; and he smiled at Sonia. “My keys, Sonia—the keys of the Paris house,” said the millionaire. Sonia took her own keys from her pocket and went to the bureau. She slipped a key into the lock and tried to turn it. It would not turn; and she bent down to look at it. “Why—why, some one’s been tampering with the lock! It’s broken!” she cried. “I told you I’d seen a burglar!” cried the millionaire triumphantly. “He was after the keys.” Sonia drew back the flap of the bureau and hastily pulled open the drawer in which the keys had been. “They’re here!” she cried, taking them out of the drawer and holding them up. “Then I was just in time,” said the millionaire. “I startled him in the very act of stealing the keys.”