These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘Strange how one may be mistaken,’ he said. ‘Likenesses are so inexplicable, are they not, Comte?’

Saint-Vire started.

‘Likenesses…?’

‘You do not find it so?’ His Grace drew a fan of lavender silk mounted on silver sticks from his pocket, and waved it languidly. ‘One wonders what can have brought the Comte de Saint-Vire to this unsophisticated spot.’

‘I came on business, M. le Duc. One also wonders what can have brought the Duc of Avon here.’

‘But business, dear Comte, business!’ said Avon, gently.

‘I come to retrieve some – property – I lost at – Le Havre!’ said the Comte wildly.

‘How singular!’ remarked Avon. ‘I came on precisely the same errand. Our paths seem fated to – er – cross, my dear Comte.’

Saint-Vire set his teeth.

‘Yes, m’sieur? On – on the same errand, you say?’ He forced a laugh. ‘Singular indeed!’

‘Quite remarkable, is it not! But unlike yours, my property was stolen from me. I hold it in – er – trust.’

‘Indeed, m’sieur?’ The Comte’s mouth was unpleasantly dry, and it was evident that he was at a loss to know what to say.

‘I trust, dear Comte, that you have found your property?’ Avon’s tone was silky.

‘Not yet,’ Saint-Vire answered slowly.

His Grace poured out the third glass of wine, and offered it to him. Mechanically the Comte accepted it.

‘Let us hope that I may be able to restore it to you,’ said his Grace, and sipped meditatively at his wine.

Saint-Vire choked.

‘M’sieur?’

‘I shall spare no pains,’ continued his Grace. ‘The village is not a large hunting-ground, to be sure. You know that it is here, I suppose?’

‘Yes – no – I do not know. It is not worth your trouble, m’sieur.’

‘Oh, my dear Comte!’ protested his Grace, ‘if it is worth so much endeavour’ – his eyes flickered to those mud-caked boots – ‘so much endeavour on your part, I am sure it is also worth my attention.’

The Comte seemed to choose his words carefully.

‘I have reason to think, m’sieur, that it is one of those jewels that contain – a flaw.’

‘I trust not,’ answered Avon. ‘So it was a jewel? Now that which was stolen from me is in the nature of a weapon.’

‘I hope you have had the good fortune to find it,’ said Saint-Vire, goaded, but holding fast to his self-control.

‘Yes, my dear Comte, yes. Chance favours me nearly always. Strange. Let me assure you that I shall do my utmost to restore your – jewel, I think you said it was? – your jewel to you.’

‘It – is not likely that you will find it,’ said Saint-Vire, between his teeth.

‘You forget the element of Chance, dear Comte. I am a great believer in my luck.’

‘My property can hardly interest you, M. le Duc.’

‘On the contrary,’ sweetly replied his Grace, ‘it would afford me great pleasure to be able to assist you in the matter.’ He glanced towards Léonie, who stood by the table, listening with a puzzled frown to the quick give and take of words. ‘I have quite a happy – shall we say, knack? – of finding lost – er – property.’