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Updated: September 3, 2025
Witness according to Crane the demoniac cleverness of the Brazilian in unmasking the Duchemin incognito. Suspicion was taking form in Lanyard's reflections that he had paid far too little attention to Senor Arturo Velasco of Buenos Aires, whose avowed avocation of amateur criminologist might easily be synonymous with interests much less innocuous.
But let him be without the wherewithal to smoke if he have the mind to, and he must procure it instantly though the heavens fall. It was so then with Duchemin. And what greater folly could there be than to want a cigarette and do without one when there were plenty in the drawing-room, to be had for the taking? He rose, girdled about him his dressing-gown, took up the candlestick, opened his door.
"Monsieur d'Aubrac is in no immediate danger. Still, the services of a good surgeon, as soon as may be ..." "Will it be dangerous to wait till we get to Nant?" "How far is that, madame?" "Twelve miles." Duchemin looked aside at the decrepit conveyance with its unhappy horses, and summed up a conclusion in a shrug. "Millau is nearer, is it not, madame?"
"Hadn't I better put these in the safe first?" "No no time." Stanistreet opened a drawer of the desk "Here!" and closed it as Blensop hastily swept the jewellery into it. "Safe enough there as long as he doesn't know, at all events. But don't forget to put them away after he goes." "No, sir." Again the door opened. Walker announced: "Mr. Duchemin." Stanistreet rose in his place.
The driver-guide of La Roque turned out to have been a thorough-paced scamp, well and ill-known to the gendarmerie; the wound sustained by Monsieur d'Aubrac bore testimony to the gravity of the affair, amply excusing Duchemin's interference and its fatal sequel; while the statements of Mesdames de Sévénié et de Montalais, duly becoming public property, bade fair to exalt the local reputation of André Duchemin to heroic stature.
In response to Cecelia's hail both came out into the garden, Stanistreet briskly leading, Crane lounging at his heels, champing his cigar, his weathered features knitted against the brightness of the sun. "Good morning, Miss Brooke. Howdy, Lanyard or are you Duchemin again?" he said; but his salutations were lost in the wonder excited by the girl's next move.
"My dear sir," Stanistreet demanded "who are you?" "The name under which I sailed for New York on board the Assyrian," Lanyard announced quietly, "was Andre Duchemin."
"The men from Paris, madame?" "Yes. You will excuse me ?" Duchemin bowed. "But one word: You can hardly do better than put the case in the hands of these gentlemen. They are apt to be of a good order of intelligence when selected to serve bankers, you know." "I understand," she replied in her cool, sweet voice. She went to meet the men in the middle of the room.
"But certainly not, monsieur!" Liane Delorme lied without perceptible effort. "That would have been too injudicious. It appears you were not mistaken in thinking you were recognized as André Duchemin last night. Agents of the Préfecture have been all day watching at the Chatham, awaiting your return." "How sad for them!"
At such times the curé, sitting at piquet with Madame de Sévénié, after dinner, would cough distressingly and, reminded that he had a bed to reach somehow through all this welter, anathematise the elements, help himself to a pinch of snuff, and proceed with his play. Duchemin sat at a little distance, talking with Madame de Montalais over their cigarettes.
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