It was a handsome case of heavy pigskin, with the initials H. I. on it.
“What a pity!” said Lemoine gently. “It must have fallen out. Shall we lift it from the road?”
Without waiting for a reply, he picked up the suitcase, and carried it over to the belt of trees. He stooped over it, something flashed in his hand, and the lock slipped back.
He spoke, and his voice was totally different, quick and commanding.
“The car will be here in a minute,” he said. “Is it in sight?”
Virginia looked back towards the house.
“No.”
“Good.”
With deft fingers he tossed the things out of the suitcase. Gold-topped bottle, silk pyjamas, a variety of socks. Suddenly his whole figure stiffened. He caught up what appeared to be a bundle of silk underwear, and unrolled it rapidly.
A slight exclamation broke from Bill. In the centre of the bundle was a heavy revolver.
“I hear the horn,” said Virginia.
Like lightning, Lemoine repacked the suitcase. The revolver he wrapped in a silk handkerchief of his own, and slipped into his pocket. He snapped the locks of the suitcase, and turned quickly to Bill.
“Take it. Madame will be with you. Stop the car, and explain that it fell off the luggage cart. Do not mention me.”