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A murder at a country house embroils its weekend guests in an international regicide, while a famous jewel thief may be lurking among them.

Page 223 of 339
Table of Contents

XIX

pushed it back and slipped inside the room. Step by step I felt my way until I was in a spot where I could watch operations without likelihood of being discovered myself. The man himself I could not see clearly. His back was to me, of course, and he was silhouetted against the light of the torch so that his outline only could be seen. But his actions filled me with surprise. He took to pieces first one and then the other of those two suits of armour, examining each one piece by piece. When he had convinced himself that what he sought was not there, he began tapping the panelling of the wall under that picture. What he would have done next, I do not know. The interruption came. You burst in⁠—” He looked at Bill.

“Our well-meant interference was really rather a pity,” said Virginia thoughtfully.

“In a sense, madame, it was. The man switched out his torch, and I, who had no wish as yet to be forced to reveal my identity, sprang for the window. I collided with the other two in the dark, and fell headlong. I sprang up and out through the window. Mr. Eversleigh, taking me for his assailant, followed.”

“I followed you first,” said Virginia. “Bill was only second in the race.”

“And the other fellow had the sense to stay still and sneak out through the door. I wonder he didn’t meet the rescuing crowd.”

“That would present no difficulties,” said Lemoine. “He would be a rescuer in advance of the rest, that was all.”

“Do you really think this Arsène Lupin fellow is actually among the household now?” asked Bill, his eyes sparkling.

“Why not?” said Lemoine. “He could pass perfectly as a servant. For all we may know, he may be Boris Anchoukoff, the trusted servant of the late Prince Michael.”

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