“A scholar, a soldier, a man of letters,” enumerated d’Artois, continuing my thought, “and a fantastic madman, if this report is correct. He is too talented for sanity.”

“Even as yourself,” I hinted.

“Touché!” acknowledged d’Artois. “But I do not elope with ladies 3700 years old.”

He fingered a pack of Bastos, but thinking better of so foul a deed, decided to light the Coronado I had given him.

“All very quaint. But let’s get to facts,” I urged. “What have you to work on in this love affair?”

“I have the good hunch. And it is more of a love affair than you realize.”

Which was logical enough. Those whom gold could not tempt, might indeed steal objects of art, jewels over which to gloat in secret, a relic, an antique rug, but a shriveled mummy! Well, tastes vary.

And the case should be simple of solution, at least as regarded the marquis; for the missing lady could not be concealed with any degree of facility. A simple matter of walking or climbing into the château and leaving again with our princess; or else reporting that she was not to be found, and that Monsieur the Marquis was not her abductor. A jewel could be hidden; but a mummy …

The château was perched upon a crest some hundred meters off the road. We parked the Issotta and proceeded on foot.

Instead of knocking at the door, as seemed to be his intent, despite his quip about housebreaking, d’Artois selected a key from his ring, tried it; selected another, picked at the lock, but to no avail. The third, however, was applied with more success; the heavy door yielded to his touch, admitting us into a vestibule, thence to a salon.

“Welcome to Tour de Maracq,” murmured d’Artois with a courtly bow. “Quick about it, and we’ll be out of here long before he has fought his last bout.”

“But the servants?” I suggested.

“They are few in number. It seems the marquis has an aversion to women, so that there are no female domestics to contend with. Thus, it is that one of the ménage has gone to Bayonne to negotiate with a stranger who sought to buy some rare vintages which are to be pilfered from the master’s cellars. Another is keeping a rendezvous with a demoiselle who hailed him a week ago and made an engagement for today. Each has some illicit engagement whereof he will not babble. Now it would have been inconvenient to arrange on short order for lovers for any female servants. Praise be to the eccentricity of Monsieur the Marquis!”