As for Sanders, he tried to calm the Duchess's impatience by assuring her that everything possible was being done. He even had a theory. But, of what comfort was that to her, as he refused to tell her what it was until--or if--he could obtain positive proof? It hardly interested Juliet that he should have cabled Monsieur Mayen and learned in reply that there was no scratch on the duplicate ring given Mayen by Pat. She hadn't for a moment supposed there would be! Of course it merely made matters worse that Mayen should be left-handed, and that a specimen seal he sent by cabled request should have an entirely different appearance from those on the covering of the packet. Also, it seemed stupid rather than intelligent that Defasquelle should be watched. The detective admitted that the Frenchman seemed above suspicion. He had begged the Duke to open the packet in his presence, which alone proved his innocence, as Sanders couldn't help seeing. Besides, the French police had replied to a wired demand for Defasquelle's _dossier_, by saying that he was a person of unblemished character. He appeared to deserve the trust reposed in him by Monsieur Mayen; had saved up a little money and was engaged to a pretty girl with a good _dot_, the daughter of a hotel keeper in Marseilles. Not only that, Defasquelle was remaining in New York for the purpose of giving what aid he could. Altogether, Juliet considered that Sanders' activities were disappointing, and Jack's no better. She refused to meet Lyda and talk with her in person as Jack advised her to do, and between her sense of being deserted and her desperate anxiety for the truth about Pat, she found more and more that her thoughts clung to the broken reed of hope held out by Madame Veno. At last, when she was making up her mind to see the woman again without waiting longer, the message came. Juliet was in the act of answering a letter from Nancy Van Esten, begging her to be at the dress rehearsal for the "great show" which was to benefit the Armenians. There was an undertone of friendly insistence which Juliet understood very well. Nancy knew what people were saying about Pat and Pavoya and the pearls. If she--Juliet--refused to attend this rehearsal to which all her most intimate "pals" were going, everyone would draw certain conclusions. She hated to go, but had written to say that she'd "drop in about five o'clock"--the rehearsal had to be in the afternoon, as the roof garden theatre was wanted in the evening for the last night of a revue--when the telephone bell rang almost in her ear. She picked up the receiver from the writing table, and her heart leaped at the sound of Madame Veno's voice. "Is that you yourself, Duchess? Yes? Well, _he's here_! Can you come around at once?"