She foresaw dreadful consequences of this night’s work—even an appearance in court was not impossible, to convict Eynard. She was unhappy with her own folly in acting as Mademoiselle’s messenger on such an errand, and knew her father would be furious with her. Imbroglios of this sort did a girl’s reputation no good. When her father entered, smiling broadly and calling her his “little imp,” her heart soared with relief. It was all a mistake then. Eynard had accidentally taken the wrong earrings back to the shop. Really it had been hard to think Eynard a thief. “What happened? What did he say?” she asked. “Say? Who?” her father asked, still smiling from ear to ear. “Eynard, of course. What did he say about the diamonds? “Nothing. He was dead—murdered.” That took the smile from his face, but still there was no evidence of worry, or sorrow either. “Murdered! Papa, what can it mean? Who did it?” she asked, nonplussed. He hunched his shoulders. “A drunkard, Hager thinks.
