“We are in no danger of being disturbed here,” Cecil began; “but I will make my explanation--the explanation which I certainly owe you--as brief as possible. Your Comte d’Avrec is an adventurer (please don’t be angry), and your Madame Lawrence is an adventuress. I knew that I had seen them together. They work in concert, and for the most part make a living on the gaming-tables of Europe. Madame Lawrence was expelled from Monte Carlo last year for being too intimate with a croupier. You may be aware that at a roulette-table one can do a great deal with the aid of the croupier. Madame Lawrence appropriated the bracelet ‘on her own,’ as it were. The Count (he may be a real Count, for anything I know) heard first of that enterprise from the lips of Miss Sartorius. He was annoyed, angry--because he was really a little in love with your friend, and he saw golden prospects. It is just this fact--the Count’s genuine passion for Miss Sartorius--that renders the case psychologically interesting. To proceed, Madame Lawrence became jealous. The Count spent six hours yesterday in trying to get the bracelet from her, and failed. He tried again last night, and succeeded, but not too easily, for he did not re-enter the hotel till after one o’clock. At first I thought he had succeeded in the daytime, and I had arranged accordingly, for I did not see why he should have the honour and glory of restoring the bracelet to its owner. Lecky and I fixed up a sleeping-draught for him. The minor details were simple. When you caught me this morning, the bracelet was in my pocket, and in its stead I had left a brief note for the perusal of the Count, which has had the singular effect of inducing him to decamp; probably he has not gone alone. But isn’t it amusing that, since you so elaborately took his sitting-room, he will be convinced that you are a party to his undoing--you, his staunchest defender?” Eve’s face gradually broke into an embarrassed smile. “You haven’t explained,” she said, “how Madame Lawrence got the bracelet.”