It took time and trouble, Sir, to hoist that mass of solid flesh into the vehicle, and the driver grumbled not a little at the unexpected weight.  However, his horses were powerful, wiry, mountain ponies, and we made headway through the darkness and along the smooth, departmental road at moderate speed.  I may say that it was a miserably uncomfortable journey for me, sitting, as I was forced to do, on the narrow front seat of the carriage, without support for my head or room for my legs.  But Madame’s bulk filled the whole of the back seat, and it never seemed to enter her head that I too might like the use of a cushion.  However, even the worst moments and the weariest journeys must come to an end, and we reached the frontier in the small hours of the morning.  Here we found the customs officials ready to render us any service we might require.  Leroux had not failed to order the fresh relay of horses, and whilst these were being put to, the polite officers of the station gave Madame and myself some excellent coffee.  Beyond the formal:  “Madame has nothing to declare for His Majesty’s customs?” and my companion’s equally formal:  “Nothing, Monsieur, except my personal belongings,” they did not ply us with questions, and after half an hour’s halt we again proceeded on our way.

We reached St. Claude at daybreak, and following Madame’s directions, the driver pulled up in front of a large house in the Avenue du Jura.  Again there was the same difficulty in hoisting the unwieldy lady out of the vehicle, but this time, in response to my vigorous pull at the outside bell, the concierge and another man came out of the house, and very respectfully they approached Madame and conveyed her into the house.

While they did so she apparently gave them some directions about myself, for anon the concierge returned, and with extreme politeness told me that Madame Fournier greatly hoped that I would stay in St. Claude a day or two as she had the desire to see me again very soon.  She also honoured me with an invitation to dine with her that same evening at seven of the clock.  This was the first time, I noticed, that the name Fournier was actually used in connexion with any of the people with whom I had become so dramatically involved.  Not that I had ever doubted the identity of the ruffianly Ernest Berty; still it was very satisfactory to have my surmises confirmed.  I concluded that the fine house in the Avenue du Jura belonged to Mme. Fournier’s brother, and I vaguely wondered who he was.  The invitation to dinner had certainly been given in her name, and the servants had received her with a show of respect which suggested that she was more than a guest in her brother’s house.

Be that as it may, I betook myself for the nonce to the Hotel des Moines in the centre of the town and killed time for the rest of the day as best I could.  For one thing I needed rest after the emotions and the fatigue of the past forty-eight hours.  Remember, Sir, I had not slept for two nights and had spent the last eight hours on the narrow front seat of a jolting chaise.  So I had a good rest in the afternoon, and at seven o’clock I presented myself once more at the house in the Avenue du Jura.