“Let him go, and send some one with him,” said the Commissary, the first practical suggestion he had yet made.

“Excellent!” cried the Judge.  “You have another man here, Chief; let him go with this Italian.”

They called in Ripaldi and told him, “We will accept your services, monsieur, and you can begin your search at once.  In what direction do you propose to begin?”

“Where has her mistress gone?”

“How do you know she has gone?”

“At least, she is no longer with us out there.  Have you arrested her—­or what?”

“No, she is still at large, but we have our eye upon her.  She has gone to her hotel—­the Madagascar, off the Grands Boulevards.”

“Then it is there that I shall look for the maid.  No doubt she preceded her mistress to the hotel, or she will join her there very shortly.”

“You would not make yourself known, of course?  They might give you the slip.  You have no authority to detain them, not in France.”

“I should take my precautions, and I can always appeal to the police.”

“Exactly.  That would be your proper course.  But you might lose valuable time, a great opportunity, and we wish to guard against that, so we shall associate one of our own people with you in your proceedings.”

“Oh! very well, if you wish.  It will, no doubt, be best.”  The Italian readily assented, but a shrewd listener might have guessed from the tone of his voice that the proposal was not exactly pleasing to him.

“I will call in Block,” said the Chief, and the second detective inspector appeared to take his instructions.

He was a stout, stumpy little man, with a barrel-like figure, greatly emphasized by the short frock coat he wore; he had smallish pig’s eyes buried deep in a fat face, and his round, chubby cheeks hung low over his turned-down collar.

“This gentleman,” went on the Chief, indicating Ripaldi, “is a member of the Roman police, and has been so obliging as to offer us his services.  You will accompany him, in the first instance, to the Hotel Madagascar.  Put yourself in communication with Galipaud, who is there on duty.”

“Would it not be sufficient if I made myself known to M. Galipaud?” suggested the Italian.  “I have seen him here, I should recognize him—­”

“That is not so certain; he may have changed his appearance.  Besides, he does not know the latest developments, and might not be very cordial.”

“You might write me a few lines to take to him.”

“I think not.  We prefer to send Block,” replied the Chief, briefly and decidedly.  He did not like this pertinacity, and looked at his colleagues as though he sought their concurrence in altering the arrangements for the Italian’s mission.  It might be wiser to detain him still.

“It was only to save trouble that I made the suggestion,” hastily put in Ripaldi.  “Naturally I am in your hands.  And if I do not meet with the maid at the hotel, I may have to look further, in which case Monsieur—­Block? thank you—­would no doubt render valuable assistance.”