, monsieur."

Duvall began to chew the end of his cigar in vexation. Of all the absurd
expeditions, this seemed the most absurd. Presently he turned to
Dufrenne and again spoke. "In your repairs upon this snuff box, to which
so great a value is apparently attached, did you observe anything about
it of a peculiar nature--anything to make its loss a matter of such
grave importance?"

"Nothing, monsieur. It is a small, round ivory box, with a carved top,
quite plain and of little value--"

"But the contents? What, perhaps, did Monsieur de Grissac carry within
it?"

"Snuff, monsieur. It was quite half-full when it came to me, last April.
Monsieur de Grissac was in Paris at the time. The spring which actuates
the top had become broken--the box is very old, monsieur--and I was
required to repair it. That is all I know."

"And you close your shop, and leave Paris without a word, just for a
thing like that?"

Dufrenne straightened his bent shoulders, and his eyes sparkled. "When
France calls me, monsieur, I have nothing to do but obey."

His reply seemed almost in the nature of a reproof. Duvall made no
further comment and relapsed into a brown study. After all, he knew,
even in his irritation, that Monsieur Lefevre had not sent him upon this
adventure without some real and very good reason. Yet try as he would,
he was unable to imagine what this reason could be. Of course, there
must have been something inside the box, his final conclusion was, else
why should any one have stolen it? No doubt the Ambassador, Monsieur de
Grissac, would acquaint him with the truth of the affair. Possibly the
box may have contained papers of great value--though why one should
choose such a place for the concealment of valuable papers he could not
imagine. The whole affair seemed shrouded in mystery, and no amount of
speculation on his part, apparently, would throw any light upon it. He
lay back in his seat, dozing, and thinking of Grace and their
interrupted honeymoon.

At Boulogne they transferred to the boat for Folkstone, and after a
quiet passage, found themselves on board the train for London. They
reached Charing Cross early in the evening, and taking a cab, drove at
once to Monsieur de Grissac's residence in Piccadilly, opposite Green
Park.

CHAPTER II

While Richard Duvall was thus flying toward Boulogne, racking his brains
in a futile attempt to discover the reasons for his sudden and
unexpected dispatch to London,