“Stay!  Stop!  I want to speak to that lady; detain her.”  It was the sharp voice of little M. Flocon, whom most of those present, certainly the Countess and Sir Charles, immediately recognized.

“No, no, no—­don’t let them keep me—­I cannot wait now,” she whispered in earnest, urgent appeal.  It was not lost on her loyal and devoted friend.

“Go on!” he shouted to the cabman, with all the peremptory insistence of one trained to give words of command.  “Forward!  As fast as you can drive.  I’ll pay you double fare.  Tell him where to go, Sabine.  I’ll follow—­in less than no time.”

The fiacre rattled off at top speed, and the General turned to confront M. Flocon.

The little detective was white to the lips with rage and disappointment; but he also was a man of promptitude, and before falling foul of this pestilent Englishman, who had again marred his plans, he shouted to Galipaud—­

“Quick!  After them!  Follow her wherever she goes.  Take this,”—­he thrust a paper into his subordinate’s hand.  “It is a warrant for her arrest.  Seize her wherever you find her, and bring her to the Quai l’Horloge,” the euphemistic title of the headquarters of the French police.

The pursuit was started at once, and then the Chief turned upon Sir Charles.  “Now it is between us,” he said, fiercely.  “You must account to me for what you have done.”

“Must I?” answered the General, mockingly and with a little laugh.  “It is perfectly easy.  Madame was in a hurry, so I helped her to get away.  That was all.”

“You have traversed and opposed the action of the law.  You have impeded me, the Chief of the Detective Service, in the execution of my duty.  It is not the first time, but now you must answer for it.”

“Dear me!” said the General in the same flippant, irritating tone.

“You will have to accompany me now to the Prefecture.”

“And if it does not suit me to go?”

“I will have you carried there, bound, tied hand and foot, by the police, like any common rapscallion taken in the act who resists the authority of an officer.”

“Oho, you talk very big, sir.  Perhaps you will be so obliging as to tell me what I have done.”

“You have connived at the escape of a criminal from justice—­”

“That lady?  Psha!”

“She is charged with a heinous crime—­that in which you yourself were implicated—­the murder of that man on the train.”

“Bah!  You must be a stupid goose, to hint at such a thing!  A lady of birth, breeding, the highest respectability—­impossible!”

“All that has not prevented her from allying herself with base, common wretches.  I do not say she struck the blow, but I believe she inspired, concerted, approved it, leaving her confederates to do the actual deed.”

“Confederates?”

“The man Ripaldi, your Italian fellow traveller; her maid, Hortense Petitpre, who was missing this morning.”