The General was fairly staggered at this unexpected blow.  Half an hour ago he would have scouted the very thought, indignantly repelled the spoken words that even hinted a suspicion of Sabine Castagneto.  But that telegram, signed Ripaldi, the introduction of the maid’s name, and the suggestion that she was troublesome, the threat that if the Countess did not go, they would come to her, and her marked uneasiness thereat—­all this implied plainly the existence of collusion, of some secret relations, some secret understanding between her and the others.

He could not entirely conceal the trouble that now overcame him; it certainly did not escape so shrewd an observer as M. Flocon, who promptly tried to turn it to good account.

“Come, M. le General,” he said, with much assumed bonhomie.  “I can see how it is with you, and you have my sincere sympathy.  We are all of us liable to be carried away, and there is much excuse for you in this.  But now—­believe me, I am justified in saying it —­now I tell you that our case is strong against her, that it is not mere speculation, but supported by facts.  Now surely you will come over to our side?”

“In what way?”

“Tell us frankly all you know—­where that lady has gone, help us to lay our hands on her.”

“Your own people will do that.  I heard you order that man to follow her.”

“Probably; still I would rather have the information from you.  It would satisfy me of your good-will.  I need not then proceed to extremities—­”

“I certainly shall not give it you,” said the General, hotly.  “Anything I know about or have heard from the Contessa Castagneto is sacred; besides, I still believe in her—­thoroughly.  Nothing you have said can shake me.”

“Then I must ask you to accompany me to the Prefecture.  You will come, I trust, on my invitation.”  The Chief spoke quietly, but with considerable dignity, and he laid a slight stress upon the last word.

“Meaning that if I do not, you will have resort to something stronger?”

“That will be quite unnecessary, I am sure,—­at least I hope so.  Still—­”

“I will go where you like, only I will tell you nothing more, not a single word; and before I start, I must let my friends at the Embassy know where to find me.”

“Oh, with all my heart,” said the little detective, shrugging his shoulders.  “We will call there on our way, and you can tell the porter.  They will know where to find us.”

CHAPTER XVII

Sir Charles Collingham and his escort, M. Flocon, entered a cab together and were driven first to the Faubourg St. Honore.  The General tried hard to maintain his nonchalance, but he was yet a little crestfallen at the turn things had taken, and M. Flocon, who, on the other hand, was elated and triumphant, saw it.  But no words passed between them until they arrived at the portals of the British Embassy, and the General handed out his card to the magnificent porter who received them.