M. Formery proceeded to discuss the effects of different anesthetics. The others heard him with very little attention. The inspector came back and reported that Victoire showed no signs of awaking. “Well, then, M. Formery, I think we might get on with the examination of Mademoiselle Kritchnoff,” said Guerchard. “Will you go and fetch her, inspector?” “Really, I cannot conceive why you should worry that poor child,” the Duke protested, in a tone of some indignation. “It seems to me hardly necessary,” said M. Formery. “Excuse me,” said Guerchard suavely, “but I attach considerable importance to it. It seems to me to be our bounden duty to question her fully. One never knows from what quarter light may come.” “Oh, well, since you make such a point of it,” said M. Formery. “Inspector, ask Mademoiselle Kritchnoff to come here. Fetch her.” The inspector left the room. Guerchard looked at the Duke with a faint air of uneasiness: “I think that we had better question Mademoiselle Kritchnoff by ourselves,” he said. M. Formery looked at him and hesitated. Then he said: “Oh, yes, of course, by ourselves.” “Certainly,” said the Duke, a trifle haughtily. And he rose and opened the door. He was just going through it when Guerchard said sharply: “Your Grace—” The Duke paid no attention to him. He shut the door quickly behind him and sprang swiftly up the stairs. He met the inspector coming down with Sonia. Barring their way for a moment he said, in his kindliest voice: “Now you mustn’t be frightened, Mademoiselle Sonia. All you have to do is to try to remember as clearly as you can the circumstances of the earlier thefts at Charmerace. You mustn’t let them confuse you.” “Thank you, your Grace, I will try and be as clear as I can,” said Sonia; and she gave him an eloquent glance, full of gratitude for the warning; and went down the stairs with firm steps. The Duke went on up the stairs, and knocked softly at the door of M. Gournay-Martin’s bedroom. There was no answer to his knock, and he quietly opened the door and looked in. Overcome by his misfortunes, the millionaire had sunk into a profound sleep and was snoring softly. The Duke stepped inside the room, left the door open a couple of inches, drew a chair to it, and sat down watching the staircase through the opening of the door. He sat frowning, with a look of profound pity on his face. Once the suspense grew too much for him. He rose and walked up and down the room. His well-bred calm seemed to have deserted him. He muttered curses on Guerchard, M. Formery, and the whole French criminal system, very softly, under his breath. His face was distorted to a mask of fury; and once he wiped the little beads of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. Then he recovered himself, sat down in the chair, and resumed his watch on the stairs.