Wethermill at Ricardo's elbow uttered a stifled cry. "Hush!"
whispered Hanaud angrily. He drew out his hand again. It was
holding a green leather jewel-case. He opened it, and a diamond
necklace flashed its thousand colours in their faces. He thrust in
his hand again and again and again, and each time that be withdrew
it, it held a jewel-case. Before the astonished eyes of his
companions he opened them. Ropes of pearls, collars of diamonds,
necklaces of emeralds, rings of pigeon-blood rubies, bracelets of
gold studded with opals-Mme. Dauvray's various jewellery was
disclosed.
"But that is astounding," said Besnard, in an awe-struck voice.
"Then she was never robbed after all?" cried Ricardo.
Hanaud rose to his feet.
"What a piece of irony!" he whispered. "The poor woman is murdered
for her jewels, the room's turned upside down, and nothing is
found. For all the while they lay safe in this cache. Nothing is
taken except what she wore. Let us see what she wore."
"Only a few rings, Helene Vauquier thought," said Besnard. "But
she was not sure."
"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Well, let us make sure!" and, taking the list
from the safe, he compared it with the jewellery in the cases on
the floor, ticking off the items one by one. When he had finished
he knelt down again, and, thrusting his hand into the hole, felt
carefully about.
"There is a pearl necklace missing," he said. "A valuable
necklace, from the description in the list and some rings. She
must have been wearing them;" and he sat back upon his heels. "We
will send the intelligent Perrichet for a bag," he said, "and we
will counsel the intelligent Perrichet not to breathe a word to
any living soul of what he has seen in this room. Then we will
seal up in the bag the jewels, and we will hand it over to M. le
Commissaire, who will convey it with the greatest secrecy out of
this villa. For the list--I will keep it," and he placed it
carefully in his pocket-book.
He unlocked the door and went out himself on to the landing. He
looked down the stairs and up the stairs; then he beckoned
Perrichet to him.
"Go!" he whispered. "Be quick, and when you come back hide the bag
carefully under your coat."
Perrichet went down the stairs with pride written upon his face.
Was he not assisting the great M. Hanaud from the Surete in Paris?
Hanaud returned into Mme. Dauvray's room and closed the door. He
looked into the eyes of his companions.
"Can't you see the scene?" he asked with a queer smile of
excitement. He had forgotten Wethermill; he had forgotten even the
dead woman shrouded beneath the sheet. He was absorbed. His eyes
were bright, his whole face vivid with life. Ricardo saw the real
man at this moment--and feared for the happiness of Harry
Wethermill. For nothing would Hanaud now turn aside until he had
reached the truth and set his hands upon the quarry. Of that
Ricardo felt sure. He was trying now to make his companions
visualise just what he saw and understood.