JEAN D’ENNERIS and Chief Inspector Béchoux stood like images behind their tapestry. Only, from time to time d’Enneris’ relentless fingers punished the detective’s shoulder. Profiting by a kind of interlude in the proceedings, he breathed in his companion’s ear:
“What do you make of it? Clearing up a bit, what?”
“Darkens as fast as it clears,” grumbled Béchoux. “We’ve learned the Mélamare secret, but that doesn’t get us any further on the k********g and the stolen diamonds.”
“Too true. Van Houben’s luck is dead out. But stay—Fagerault is up and doing.”
Antoine Fagerault had left Gilberte’s side and turned towards the other two.
“Mademoiselle Arlette,” said he, “you believe all that Gilberte de Mélamare has told us, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“And you too, madame?” he asked Régine, who nodde
