“Halloa, Jack! you are a good chap,” cried the General, quickly going forward to shake hands.  “I was sure you would come.”

“Come, sir!  Of course I came.  I was just going to an official function, as you see, but his Excellency insisted, my horse was at the door, and here I am.”

All this was in English, but the attache turned now to the officials, and, with many apologies for his intrusion, suggested that they should allow his friend, the General, to return with him to the Embassy when they had done with him.

“Of course we will answer for him.  He shall remain at your disposal, and will appear whenever called upon.”  He returned to Sir Charles, asking, “You will promise that, sir?”

“Oh, willingly.  I had always meant to stay on a bit in Paris.  And really I should like to see the end of this.  But my brother?  He must get home for next Sunday’s duty.  He has nothing to tell, but he would come back to Paris at any time if his evidence was wanted.”

The French Judge very obligingly agreed to all these proposals, and two more of the detained passengers, making four in all, now left the station.

Then the officials proceeded to the car, which still remained as the Chief Detective had left it.

Here they soon found how just were the General’s previsions.

CHAPTER XI

The three officials went straight to where the still open window showed the particular spot to be examined.  The exterior of the car was a little smirched and stained with the dust of the journey, lying thick in parts, and in others there were a few great splotches of mud plastered on.

The detective paused for a moment to get a general view, looking, in the light of the General’s suggestion, for either hand or foot marks, anything like a trace of the passage of a feminine skirt, across the dusty surface.

But nothing was to be seen, nothing definite or conclusive at least.  Only here and there a few lines and scratches that might be encouraging, but proved little.

Then the Commissary, drawing nearer, called attention to some suspicious spots sprinkled about the window, but above it towards the roof.

“What is it?” asked the detective, as his colleague with the point of his long fore-finger nail picked at the thin crust on the top of one of these spots, disclosing a dark, viscous core.

“I could not swear to it, but I believe it is blood.”

“Blood!  Good Heavens!” cried the detective, as he dragged his powerful magnifying glass out of his pocket and applied it to the spot.  “Look, M. le Juge,” he added, after a long and minute examination.  “What say you?”

“It has that appearance.  Only medical evidence can positively decide, but I believe it is blood.”

“Now we are on the right track, I feel convinced.  Some one fetch a ladder.”

One of these curious French ladders, narrow at the top, splayed out at the base, was quickly leaned against the car, and the detective ran up, using his magnifier as he climbed.