"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."
"The devil you would!" said the Duke softly.
