At last, at the end of half an hour, which had seemed to him months long, he heard voices. The drawing-room door shut, and there were footsteps on the stairs. The inspector and Sonia came into view. He waited till they were at the top of the stairs: then he came out of the room, with his most careless air, and said: “Well, Mademoiselle Sonia, I hope you did not find it so very dreadful, after all.” She was very pale, and there were undried tears on her cheeks. “It was horrible,” she said faintly. “Horrible. M. Formery was all right—he believed me; but that horrible detective would not believe a word I said. He confused me. I hardly knew what I was saying.” The Duke ground his teeth softly. “Never mind, it’s over now. You had better lie down and rest. I will tell one of the servants to bring you up a glass of wine.” He walked with her to the door of her room, and said: “Try to sleep—sleep away the unpleasant memory.” She went into her room, and the Duke went downstairs and told the butler to take a glass of champagne up to her. Then he went upstairs to the drawing-room. M. Formery was at the table writing. Guerchard stood beside him. He handed what he had written to Guerchard, and, with a smile of satisfaction, Guerchard folded the paper and put it in his pocket. “Well, M. Formery, did Mademoiselle Kritchnoff throw any fresh light on this mystery?” said the Duke, in a tone of faint contempt. “No—in fact she convinced ME that she knew nothing whatever about it. M. Guerchard seems to entertain a different opinion. But I think that even he is convinced that Mademoiselle Kritchnoff is not a friend of Arsène Lupin.” “Oh, well, perhaps she isn’t. But there’s no telling,” said Guerchard slowly. “Arsène Lupin?” cried the Duke. “Surely you never thought that Mademoiselle Kritchnoff had anything to do with Arsène Lupin?” “I never thought so,” said M. Formery. “But when one has a fixed idea ... well, one has a fixed idea.” He shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Guerchard with contemptuous eyes. The Duke laughed, an unaffected ringing laugh, but not a pleasant one: “It’s absurd!” he cried. “There are always those thefts,” said Guerchard, with a nettled air. “You have nothing to go upon,” said M. Formery. “What if she did enter the service of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin just before the thefts began? Besides, after this lapse of time, if she had committed the thefts, you’d find it a job to bring them home to her. It’s not a job worth your doing, anyhow—it’s a job for an ordinary detective, Guerchard.” “There’s always the pendant,” said Guerchard. “I am convinced that that pendant is in the house.” “Oh, that stupid pendant! I wish I’d never given it to Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin,” said the Duke lightly. “I have a feeling that if I could lay my hand on that pendant—if I could find who has it, I should have the key to this mystery.”