There were strong iron shutters behind the windows – these could not be very easily opened – in any case, it was impossible to close them again from the outside. The thief must have been in the house, probably in the ballroom, and had followed the Princess into this little retiring room.... But what had been the Princess’s motive for coming here alone?

Monsieur Havard had learned that the room had not been thrown open to the other guests. Then he noticed that the lace at the bottom of her dress was undone. He bent down and examined it carefully – two pins, hastily stuck in, kept together a piece of this lace.... The conclusion Monsieur Havard came to was, that the Princess having a rent in her dress had wished to be alone for a minute or two in order to repair the damage, and that while she was stooping towards the bottom of her skirt the assassin had thrown her to the ground and despoiled her of her jewels.

The chief of the detective force turned to Thomery abruptly:

“I shall be obliged to follow a course of action which may rather annoy your guests; but they must excuse me.

Everything leads me to think that the guilty person is still on the premises, since no one has gone left... I must hold an investigation at once. I am going to cross-examine your guests – probe them thoroughly – and I wish to put them through their paces in your office, Monsieur Thomery, one by one.... I will begin with you... so that your guests take my questioning with a good grace... it is only a more matter of form – a pure formality.’

The investigations were lengthy and trying – and led to no result whatever.

Fandor, who was preoccupied by this fresh drama in which he had taken some part – far too slightly to please him – was putting on his overcoat when he stopped dead.

A voice – an unrecognisable voice – had murmured in his ear:

“Attention! Fandor!... It is serious!”

The journalist turned round in a flash. Ah, this time he would find out who the mysterious unknown was – the unknown, who wished to influence by word written and word spoken, the course of these investigations he had taken in hand:Anonymous friend?

Concealed adversary?

He must, at all costs, clear up the mystery.

A dozen people were crowding round Fandor in the cloak-room, insisting on being attended to.

No one noticed the journalist.

No one seemed interested in what he was doing.

Fandor examined every one of Thomery’s guests who were standing about him. He knew some of them by name, some he knew by sight. He searched their faces with penetrating eyes; but, in vain... Some were commonplace looking, others calm, others impenetrable.

“Hang it all,” he grumbled. He went off furious and upset.

CHAPTER NINE : FINGER PRINTS