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Updated: May 31, 2025
The dawn broke, and the awakening hum of the city grew louder and louder. Peter rose and stretched himself. "Your servants are moving about in the house," he remarked. "I think that we might consider our vigil at an end." Monsieur de Lamborne rose with alacrity. "My friend," he said, "I feel that I have made false pretences to you. With the day I have no fear.
"What are the electrical appliances doing there?" the Baron demanded. "Don't look at me like that, De Lamborne. Remember that I was here before you arrived." "My wife takes an electric massage every day," Monsieur de Lamborne answered, in a hard, unnatural voice. "In what way is Monsieur le Baron concerned in my wife's doings?"
"For the present, excuse me. I must look after my guests." The music had ceased, there was a movement towards the supper room. Peter offered his arm to Madame de Lamborne, who welcomed him with a brilliant smile. Her husband, although, for a Frenchman, he was by no means of a jealous disposition, was conscious of a vague feeling of uneasiness as he watched them pass out of the room together.
His host took the ambassador by the arm and led him into a retired corner. Monsieur de Lamborne was a tall, slight man, somewhat cadaverous-looking, with large features, hollow eyes, thin but carefully arranged grey hair, and a pointed grey beard. He wore a frilled shirt, and an eyeglass suspended by a broad, black ribbon hung down upon his chest.
Remember that I was here before you arrived." "My wife takes an electric massage every day," Monsieur de Lamborne answered in a hard, unnatural voice. "In what way is Monsieur le Baron concerned in my wife's doings?" "I think that there need be no answer to that question," Peter said quietly. "It is a greater tragedy which we have to face. I maintain that your safe was entered from that room.
The time is so short and the conditions so difficult. I may count upon your assistance, Baron?" The Baron drew from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper. "I received a telegram from headquarters this after noon," he said, "with instructions to place myself entirely at your disposal." "You will return with me, then, to the Embassy?" Monsieur de Lamborne asked, eagerly.
"Untouched!" de Lamborne exclaimed, a little note of triumph in his tone. Peter said nothing, but held out his hand. "Permit me," he interposed. De Lamborne was conscious of a faint sense of uneasiness. His companion walked across the room and carefully weighed the packet. "Well?" de Lamborne cried. "Why do you do that? What is wrong?" Peter turned and faced him.
It was, perhaps, by accident that his eyes met those of Madame de Lamborne, but she smiled at him subtly more, perhaps, with her wonderful eyes than with her lips themselves. She was the centre of a very brilliant group, a most beautiful woman holding court, as was only right and proper, amongst her admirers. Peter sighed. "No," he said, "I shall not return with you, de Lamborne.
A thousand pardons for your sleepless night." "My sleepless night counts for nothing," Peter assured him; "but before I go, would it not be as well that we glance together inside the safe?" De Lamborne shook out his keys. "I was about to suggest it," he replied. The ambassador arranged the combination and pressed the lever. Slowly the great door swung back. The two men peered in.
The hours crawled away. Once Peter sat up and listened. "Any rats about?" he inquired. The ambassador was indignant. "I have never heard one in my life," he answered. "This is quite a modern house." Peter dropped his match-box and stooped to pick it up. "Any lights on anywhere except in this room?" he asked. "Certainly not," Monsieur de Lamborne answered.
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