"captain manners, this is monsieur defasquelle, private secretary to monsieur mayen, of whom you have heard me speak," claremanagh introduced the two men, as the messenger came in. he shook defasquelle's hand and gave him one of the delightful smiles which helped to make him popular with all types and classes.

jack tried not to hear what juliet's husband and the frenchman said to each other. not that there was any special reason why he shouldn't hear, for he'd heard pat groan over the pawned pearls till he was sick of the subject; and he had been drawn into the business of trying to get them for juliet after claremanagh left france. but his part in the affair was ended, and he felt that pat would rather be alone with defasquelle; that he had been asked to make a third on the scene entirely through politeness. besides, he was grimly conscious that the three men were not the only persons present. he was as sure as simone had been that lyda pavoya listened from behind the spanish screen, or the half-drawn green velvet curtains. he was angry for juliet's sake that the woman should be in the house, and disgusted that she should be hidden. never had he come so near disliking pat, even on the day when juliet broke the news of her engagement. but to his own annoyance, he could not dislike him whole-heartedly. he even found himself sneakingly half-sorry for the fellow. wondering why this should be, he was roused from his thoughts by the raised voice of defasquelle.

"but i must beg, monsieur le duc, that you open the box in my presence and verify the contents!" he exclaimed.

"i see how you feel, but i can't do that, and it's not necessary," returned pat.

jack manners had seated himself on the club-fender that guarded the fine fireplace. he had taken an illustrated paper to occupy eyes and hands, but glanced up and saw on the table between claremanagh and defasquelle a box neatly packed in some waterproof-looking material, sealed with five fat crimson seals.

"it would spoil all the fun if i broke those seals," pat went on, in a more human tone. "my wife must be the first to open the thing, and see the pearls. i'm extremely sorry she's out. but it can't be helped. if you care to wait——"

"when will madame the duchess return?" defasquelle enquired.

"that's more than i know. not till late, i'm afraid."

"i have made an engagement in a half hour from now," regretted the frenchman, taking out his watch. "it is an appointment that cannot be put off, as the person is not free to change from one time to another. monsieur, i urge you to open the box. it is only fair to the purser of the britannia, who kept it in his safe. it is only fair to me——"

claremanagh laughed. "oh, don't bother about that side of it! those seals alone are a proof that the packet hasn't been tampered with since it left mayen's hands. you're his secretary, monsieur defasquelle, and he trusts you completely, or he wouldn't have chosen you, above any one else, as his messenger. but i don't suppose he would take that seal ring i gave him off his finger to lend it even to you. he volunteered the promise to me that it should never leave his hand. in fact, when i pledged the pearls to him for two hundred thousand francs, it was he who suggested fastening them up in a box sealed with my own particular, private seal."

"you are right so far, monsieur le duc," admitted defasquelle. "my employer has been true to his agreement. for one thing, the ring you had made for him with the facsimile of your seal happens to be rather small. i do not think he could remove it from his finger if he wished without having it sawed off by a jeweller."

"very well, then!" said pat. "there you are!"

"but i am not there," argued the frenchman, unfamiliar with english idioms. "seals can be taken off and fastened on again, i have heard, without the change leaving a trace. i am certain these are intact. but, putting aside myself and the pursuer, monsieur would not——"

"rot, my dear fellow!" cut in the duke. "i trust mayen as i trust myself. of course, i know—we all three know—the pearls are inside that box. you say you can't wait for my wife to come home. i say the seals shan't be broken by any hand but hers. let's be sensible! manners, come here, won't you, and reassure monsier defasquelle by examining these seals!" he snatched the box up from the table, and held it out to jack. "you've got sharp eyes. i leave it to you. can't you swear that those five red blobs have never been tampered with, even by the smartest expert alive?"

reluctantly jack came forward, and accepting the box, closely examined the seals. "i think i'd be prepared to swear that," he said. "all the same, monsieur defasquelle is right, in my opinion. you owe it to him—to everyone concerned, including the company who've insured the pearls—to open the box before you let it go out of your sight."

"you're no true friend of juliet's, to give me such advice," pat taunted him. "and i won't take it. that's flat. while as for the seals, look there!" as he retrieved the package, he nodded at a ring on the least finger of his right hand.

both men's eyes went to it; defasquelle's to note, perhaps, how precisely the raised design of the wax resembled the sunken design on the gold. but there was a different thought in jack manners' mind. he remembered what juliet had written him about this ring. what had happened between her and pat? was the question that flashed through his head. a few hours ago she had sealed her "secret letter" with her husband's ring, after some dispute concerning it. and now, here it was on pat's finger again!

claremanagh, unconscious of jack's disparaging reflections, began to regain something like his old gaiety of manner. "are you satisfied, monsieur?" he asked. then, seeing that defasquelle screwed up his brilliant eyes in a near-sighted way, the duke flung the box on the table, and pulled off the ring.

"have a good look at it," he said, almost forcing it into the frenchman's hand. "there's a safe in the wall of this room, made by my dead father-in-law, to keep such things as he didn't care to send to the bank. my wife and i are the only people alive who have keys to it, or know the combination. besides, my own man is the one servant allowed in this room. so you see, jack, i don't need to keep the box 'in sight' after monsieur defasquelle goes."

as he spoke, he walked toward an alcove at the left of the fireplace. it was fitted with bookshelves; and as manners' eyes followed claremanagh he remembered the secret of silas phayre's safe. part of the top shelf had to be pulled out from the wall (after touching a spring) and then pushed up. thus a small steel door was revealed, and could be unlocked only after a certain combination of letters had been made. jack had not thought of the safe in years, or glanced in its direction on entering the room; but now, to his surprise, he saw that the bookshelf had already been pushed up, and the safe-door not only revealed, but opened.

claremanagh's back was turned to him, and he could not see by a change of face whether pat was vexed at his own forgetfulness, or indifferent. but jack remembered the hidden fourth person in the room, and instinct told him that the safe had not been opened in readiness for the pearls. there had been some other motive. claremanagh and the polish woman had been interrupted in their tête-à-tête, and it would be characteristic of pat if an unexpected rap on the door had caught him unawares. could he have been in the act of giving pavoya a jewel from the safe when he had been forced to answer a knock?

luckily, no such suspicion could be in the frenchman's head, for he had not seen pavoya slip into the house. jack glanced at him, and saw that he had laid the duke's seal ring on the table beside the sealed packet. he was looking at the safe, but showed no surprise at finding it open. for him, it had been prepared to receive the pearls.

"there's a good little hidie-hole!" said pat. "now i'll sign the receipt, monsieur, and you may go to your engagement with a light heart." he went back to the table, took the box, and tossed it into the aperture in the wall. then he closed the steel door, did something to it which the eyes of neither man could follow, and pulled down the concealing bookshelf.

a moment later he was scrawling "claremanagh" on the paper which defasquelle rather sulkily put into his hand.