“No, of course not—of course not. You were on the track of Lupin,” said M. Formery; and his contemptuous smile was tinged with malice. The Duke looked from one to the other of them with curious, searching eyes: “I find all this so interesting,” he said. “We do not take much notice of these checks; they do not depress us for a moment,” said M. Formery, with some return of his old grandiloquence. “We pause hardly for an instant; then we begin to reconstruct—to reconstruct.” “It’s perfectly splendid of you,” said the Duke, and his limpid eyes rested on M. Formery’s self-satisfied face in a really affectionate gaze; they might almost be said to caress it. Guerchard looked out of the window at a man who was carrying a hod-full of bricks up one of the ladders set against the scaffolding of the building house. Something in this honest workman’s simple task seemed to amuse him, for he smiled. Only the inspector, thinking of the unexamined fireplace, looked really depressed. “We shan’t get anything out of this woman till she wakes,” said M. Formery, “When she does, I shall question her closely and fully. In the meantime, she may as well be carried up to her bedroom to sleep off the effects of the chloroform.” Guerchard turned quickly: “Not her own bedroom, I think,” he said gently. “Certainly not—of course, not her own bedroom,” said M. Formery quickly. “And I think an officer at the door of whatever bedroom she does sleep in,” said Guerchard. “Undoubtedly—most necessary,” said M. Formery gravely. “See to it, inspector. You can take her away.” The inspector called in a couple of policemen, and with their aid he and Bonavent raised the sleeping woman, a man at each corner of the mattress, and bore her from the room. “And now to reconstruct,” said M. Formery; and he folded his arms and plunged into profound reflection. The Duke and Guerchard watched him in silence. CHAPTER XI THE FAMILY ARRIVES In carrying out Victoire, the inspector had left the door of the drawing-room open. After he had watched M. Formery reflect for two minutes, Guerchard faded—to use an expressive Americanism—through it. The Duke felt in the breast-pocket of his coat, murmured softly, “My cigarettes,” and followed him. He caught up Guerchard on the stairs and said, “I will come with you, if I may, M. Guerchard. I find all these investigations extraordinarily interesting. I have been observing M. Formery’s methods—I should like to watch yours, for a change.” “By all means,” said Guerchard. “And there are several things I want to hear about from your Grace. Of course it might be an advantage to discuss them together with M. Formery, but—” and he hesitated. “It would be a pity to disturb M. Formery in the middle of the process of reconstruction,” said the Duke; and a faint, ironical smile played round the corners of his sensitive lips. Guerchard looked at him quickly: “Perhaps it would,” he said.