played two or three parts under as many disguises.

"If he was Charolais, I don't see how he could be one of M. Gournay-
Martin's household, too," said the Duke in some perplexity.

"I don't say that he WAS Charolais," said Guerchard. "It is quite a
moot point. On the whole, I'm inclined to think that he was not. The
theft of the motor-cars was a job for a subordinate. He would hardly
bother himself with it."

The Duke told him all that he could remember about the millionaire's
servants--and, under the clever questioning of the detective, he was
surprised to find how much he did remember--all kinds of odd details
about them which he had scarcely been aware of observing.

The two of them, as they talked, afforded an interesting contrast:
the Duke, with his air of distinction and race, his ironic
expression, his mobile features, his clear enunciation and well-
modulated voice, his easy carriage of an accomplished fencer--a
fencer with muscles of steel--seemed to be a man of another kind
from the slow-moving detective, with his husky voice, his common,
slurring enunciation, his clumsily moulded features, so ill adapted
to the expression of emotion and intelligence. It was a contrast
almost between the hawk and the mole, the warrior and the workman.
Only in their eyes were they alike; both of them had the keen, alert
eyes of observers. Perhaps the most curious thing of all was that,
in spite of the fact that he had for so much of his life been an
idler, trifling away his time in the pursuit of pleasure, except
when he had made his expedition to the South Pole, the Duke gave one
the impression of being a cleverer man, of a far finer brain, than