For this was not the thing I had come from London to
bring Maxine.
I could hardly keep back a cry of joy. But I did keep it back, for
suspense and anxiety had left me a few grains of sense.
"Voila!" grunted the Commissary of Police. "I said that you were clever,
Mademoiselle. But it would have been as well for all concerned if you
had spared us this trouble."
"You alone are to blame for the trouble," answered Maxine. "I never saw
that thing before in my life."
I was astonished that there was no ring of satisfaction in her voice. It
sounded hard and defiant, but there was no triumph in it, no joy that,
so far, she was saved--as if by a miracle. Rather was her tone that of a
woman at bay, fighting to the last, but without hope. "Nor did I ever
see it before." I echoed her words.
She glanced at me as if with gratitude. Yet there was no need for
gratitude. I was not lying for her sake, but speaking the plain truth,
as I thought that she must know.
For the first time the Commissary of Police condescended to laugh. "I
suppose you want me to believe that the last occupant of this room
tucked some valued possession down into a safe hiding place--and then
forgot all about it.
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