CHAPTER IV

In that quiet little room of his behind the shop I told Penkfether the result of my investigations in Paris, and Penkfether’s face grew longer and longer, and his expression gloomier and gloomier, and finally he shook his head. “Oh, well, Campenhaye,” he said, “there’s only one thing to be done. I shall have to tell all this to Lord Massingham, and the Marchioness will have to come in too. There’s no use in further secrecy and concealment. Of course, the real butterfly has been stolen, and by a remarkably clever th…