The door opened, and Sonia came in. She was still wearing her travelling costume, and she carried her cloak on her arm. She stood looking round her with an air of some surprise; perhaps there was even a touch of fear in it. The long journey of the night before did not seem to have dimmed at all her delicate beauty. The Duke’s eyes rested on her in an inquiring, wondering, even searching gaze. She looked at him, and her own eyes fell. “Will you come a little nearer, Mademoiselle?” said M. Formery. “There are one or two questions—” “Will you allow me?” said Guerchard, in a tone of such deference that it left M. Formery no grounds for refusal. M. Formery flushed and ground his teeth. “Have it your own way!” he said ungraciously. “Mademoiselle Kritchnoff,” said Guerchard, in a tone of the most good-natured courtesy, “there is a matter on which M. Formery needs some information. The pendant which the Duke of Charmerace gave Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin yesterday has been stolen.” “Stolen? Are you sure?” said Sonia in a tone of mingled surprise and anxiety. “Quite sure,” said Guerchard. “We have exactly determined the conditions under which the theft was committed. But we have every reason to believe that the culprit, to avoid detection, has hidden the pendant in the travelling-bag or trunk of somebody else in order to—” “My bag is upstairs in my bedroom, sir,” Sonia interrupted quickly. “Here is the key of it.” In order to free her hands to take the key from her wrist-bag, she set her cloak on the back of a couch. It slipped off it, and fell to the ground at the feet of the Duke, who had not returned to his place beside Germaine. While she was groping in her bag for the key, and all eyes were on her, the Duke, who had watched her with a curious intentness ever since her entry into the room, stooped quietly down and picked up the cloak. His hand slipped into the pocket of it; his fingers touched a hard object wrapped in tissue-paper. They closed round it, drew it from the pocket, and, sheltered by the cloak, transferred it to his own. He set the cloak on the back of the sofa, and very softly moved back to his place by Germaine’s side. No one in the room observed the movement, not even Guerchard: he was watching Sonia too intently. Sonia found the key, and held it out to Guerchard. He shook his head and said: “There is no reason to search your bag—none whatever. Have you any other luggage?” She shrank back a little from his piercing eyes, almost as if their gaze scared her. “Yes, my trunk ... it’s upstairs in my bedroom too ... open.” She spoke in a faltering voice, and her troubled eyes could not meet those of the detective. “You were going out, I think,” said Guerchard gently. “I was asking leave to go out. There is some shopping that must be done,” said Sonia. “You do not see any reason why Mademoiselle Kritchnoff should not go out, M. Formery, do you?” said Guerchard.