"But why's he so filthy?" I said. "And how did he fetch up here? Let's see. He must have come with us as far as Bouzom's. That's only five minutes from here. Then we forgot all about him and left him outside. We were there for ages. I suppose he got fed up with waiting or found a pal or something, and drifted down here. All the same...." I turned to the custodian and took out a fifty-franc note. "He doesn't usually pay so much for a room, but, as this isn't a hotel and he had Jeanne d'Albret's bed...." The money passed in silence. I fancy the keeper dared not trust himself to speak. After all, I was very thankful that Nobby was found. As we passed out of the gate, a sudden thought came to me, and I turned back. "I say," I cried, "when last did you visit that room?" "The Queen's room, _Monsieur_?" I nodded. "Yesterday morning, Monsieur. At nine o'clock." You could have knocked me down. I walked towards the car like a man in a dream. The business smacked of a conjuring trick. Having lost the terrier in the town, I had been sent to view the Château against my will, there to discover my missing chattel in a locked chamber upon the second floor. To add to the confusion of my wits, Susan was talking furiously. "...I've read of such things. You know. In case of a revolution, for the king to escape. They say there's one at Buckingham Palace." "One what?" said I abstractedly. "Underground passage," said Susan. "Leading out into the open. The one from Buckingham Palace goes into a house, I suppose it was country once, and then the ground was built over, or, of course, it might always have led into the house, and they just had loyal people living there or someone from the Court, so that----" "Heaven and earth!" I roared. "The Villa Buichi." Susan recoiled with a cry. I caught her white arm. "Susan," I yelled, "you've got it in one! The last time we saw him was there. It's a house we saw yesterday. We thought of taking it, but, as soon as he saw us coming, another chap got in quick." "What a shame!" said Susan. "If only you'd had it, you'd 've been able to go and look at the tapestries whenever you---- Oh, whatever's the matter?" I suppose my eyes were blazing. I know my brain was. The murder was out. "I must see my friend, the Spaniard," I said. "He's made a mistake. _The biggest receiver in France has not retired_." Susan stared at me with big eyes. With a smile, I flung open its door and waved her into the car.... I followed her in. Then I put my arm round her waist and kissed her pink cheek. "Now," said I, "you _will_ have something to tell them." Susan gurgled delightedly. * * * * * The French are nothing if not artistic. They are also good showmen.