Fitzgerald had an idea; boldly put, it was a grave suspicion. Not once
had he forgotten the man in the chimney. Once the finger had pointed
at Breitmann or some one with whom he was in understanding. This had
proved to be groundless. But he kept turning over the incident and
inspecting it from all sides. There were others a-treasure hunting;
persons unknown; and a man might easily become desperate in the pursuit
of two-million francs, almost half a million of American money, more,
for some of these coins would be rare. He had thoroughly searched the
ground outside the cellar-window, but the sea gravel held its secret
with a tenacity as baffling as the mother-sea herself. There was a new
under-groom, or rather there had been. He had left, and where he had
gone no one knew. Fitzgerald dismissed the thought of him; at the most
he could have been but an accomplice, one to unlock the cellar-window.

While Breitmann lingered near Laura, offering what signs of admiration
he dared, and while the admiral chatted to his country neighbors who
were gathered round the tea-table, Fitzgerald and M. Ferraud were
braced against the terrace wall, a few yards farther on, and exchanged
views on various peoples.

"America is a wonderful country," said M. Ferraud, when they had
exhausted half a dozen topics. He spread out his hands, Frenchman-wise.

"So it is." Fitzgerald threw away his cigarette.

"And how foolish England was over a pound of tea."

"Something like that."

"But see what she lost!" with a second gesture.