search of it.

The inspector came back, wearing a disappointed air.

"Have you found anything?" said the Duke.

"Nothing," said the inspector.

He came up the steps and hammered again on the door. No one answered
his knock. There was a clatter of footsteps, and Henri and the
locksmith, a burly, bearded man, his bag of tools slung over his
shoulder, came hurrying up. He was not long getting to work, but it
was net an easy job. The lock was strong. At the end of five minutes
he said that he might spend an hour struggling with the lock itself;
should he cut away a piece of the door round it?

"Cut away," said the Duke.

The locksmith changed his tools, and in less than three minutes he
had cut away a square piece from the door, a square in which the
lock was fixed, and taken it bodily away.

The door opened. The inspector drew his revolver, and entered the
house. The Duke followed him. The policemen drew their revolvers,
and followed the Duke. The big hall was but dimly lighted. One of
the policemen quickly threw back the shutters of the windows and let
in the light. The hall was empty, the furniture in perfect order;
there were no signs of burglary there.

"The concierge?" said the inspector, and his men hurried through the