“Quick, Mazeroux!” he said.  “Get out your detective card and ask the clerk what ticket she’s taken.  Run, before another passenger comes.”

Mazeroux hurried and questioned the ticket clerk and returned: 

“Second class for Rouen.”

“Take one for yourself.”

Mazeroux did so.  They found that there was an express due to start in a minute.  When they reached the platform Florence was stepping into a compartment in the middle of the train.

The engine whistled.

“Get in,” said Don Luis, hiding himself as best he could.  “Telegraph to me from Rouen; and I’ll join you this evening.  Above all, keep your eyes on her.  Don’t let her slip between your fingers.  She’s very clever, you know.”

“But why don’t you come yourself, Chief?  It would be much better—­”

“Out of the question.  The train doesn’t stop before Rouen; and I couldn’t be back till this evening.  The meeting at the Prefect’s is at five o’clock.”

“And you insist on going?”

“More than ever.  There, jump in!”

He pushed him into one of the end carriages.  The train started and soon disappeared in the tunnel.

Then Don Luis flung himself on a bench in a waiting room and remained there for two hours, pretending to read the newspapers.  But his eyes wandered and his mind was haunted by the agonizing question that once more forced itself upon him:  was Florence guilty or not?

* * * * *

It was five o’clock exactly when Major Comte d’Astrignac, Maitre Lepertuis, and the secretary of the American Embassy were shown into M. Desmalions’s office.  At the same moment some one entered the messengers’ room and handed in his card.

The messenger on duty glanced at the pasteboard, turned his head quickly toward a group of men talking in a corner, and then asked the newcomer: 

“Have you an appointment, sir?”

“It’s not necessary.  Just say that I’m here:  Don Luis Perenna.”

A kind of electric shock ran through the little group in the corner; and one of the persons forming it came forward.  It was Weber, the deputy chief detective.

The two men looked each other straight in the eyes.  Don Luis smiled amiably.  Weber was livid; he shook in every limb and was plainly striving to contain himself.

Near him stood a couple of journalists and four detectives.

“By Jove! the beggars are there for me!” thought Don Luis.  “But their confusion shows that they did not believe that I should have the cheek to come.  Are they going to arrest me?”

Weber did not move, but in the end his face expressed a certain satisfaction as though he were saying: 

“I’ve got you this time, my fine fellow, and you shan’t escape me.”

The office messenger returned and, without a word, led the way for Don Luis.  Perenna passed in front of Weber with the politest of bows, bestowed a friendly little nod on the detectives, and entered.