Davis, my butler, sent for the police at once, and their thorough search of my house proved what I had suspected after seeing Cécile's cases: Nothing was missing except the earrings. The priceless antiquities displayed in my library, the old masters' paintings that could be found throughout the house, and my own jewelry were untouched. Not even the two-hundred-carat emerald-and-diamond necklace that sat next to the earrings was disturbed. Our thief had known what he wanted.
"It is difficult to be angry with a man who shows such refined taste," Cécile said the next morning as we sat at the breakfast table. "Clearly he is not motivated by greed."
"It's a pity your dogs did not bark to warn us of the intruder." Cécile refused to leave her home in Paris without her pets and would not come to visit me unless I agreed to let her bring them. Caesar and Brutus were tiny things, more likely to cower at the sight of a cat than to bark at a burglar. "If I had woken up earlier, I might have seen him," I said, frowning. The police had found footprints in the garden beneath my room, and although the rain had washed away any identifying features, they were able to determine that the intruder had entered the house through my window. This revelation had deeply disturbed Davis, who reprimanded the entire staff and assured me that he would personally check the locks in the house every evening. I did not hold anyone responsible. Had it not been raining, I would have directed my maid to leave the window open, and I said as much to Colin when he arrived to find Cécile and me still at breakfast.