“Madame is very quick,” said Lemoine approvingly. “Yes, there is a link. Count Stylptitch was also staying at Chimneys at the time.”
“So that he might have known about it?”
“ Parfaitement. ”
“And, of course,” said Battle, “if he’s blurted it out in his precious memoirs, the fat will be in the fire. Especially after the way the whole thing was hushed up.”
Anthony lit a cigarette.
“There’s no possibility of there being a clue in the memoirs as to where the stone was hidden?” he asked.
“Very unlikely,” said Battle decisively. “He was never in with the queen—opposed the marriage tooth and nail. She’s not likely to have taken him into her confidence.”
“I wasn’t suggesting such a thing for a minute,” said Anthony. “But by all accounts he was a cunning old boy. Unknown to her, he may have discovered where she hid the jewel. In that case, what would he have done, do you think?”
“Sat tight,” said Battle, after a moment’s reflection.
“I agree,” said the Frenchman. “It was a ticklish moment, you see. To return the stone anonymously would have presented great difficulties. Also, the knowledge of its whereabouts would give him great power—and he liked power, that strange old man. Not only did he hold the queen in the hollow of his hand, but he had a powerful weapon to negotiate with at any time. It was not the only secret he possessed—oh, no!—he collected secrets like some men collect rare pieces of china. It is said that, once or twice before his death, he boasted to people of the