Bruslart’s disappearance was comprehensible.  The escape of mademoiselle would naturally draw suspicion upon him.  Was Richard Barrington with him?

This was the first question Seth asked himself.  It gave quick birth to another.  What part had Raymond Latour in the scheme?

The set purpose in Seth’s mind was apparent by the fact that he took the most direct route to the Rue Valette.  Twice at intervals of an hour he knocked at Latour’s door and received no answer, nor heard any sound within.  The third time the door was opened, and Latour faced him.

“Your business, citizen.”

“I have something important to tell Citizen Latour,” Seth answered.

“I do not know you.”

“Does Citizen Latour know all his admirers?”

“No, nor all his enemies,” was the answer.

“Were I an enemy I do not think you would be afraid.  As it happens I want to be a friend.”

“Come in, then, and remember a deputy’s time is not his own.  You may be from the provinces, citizen, and therefore I do not know you,” said Latour, as he closed and locked his door, and Seth noticed that he was armed and prepared to use his pistol at a moment’s notice.

“From Louisiana originally, from Virginia recently with my master, Richard Barrington.”

Latour remained standing by the door a moment, then moved to a chair by the table, and sat down.

“I am interested.  What do you want with me?” he said.

“I want to know where my master is.”

Latour regarded him fixedly.  If Seth expected to read this man’s thoughts in his face he was doomed to disappointment.

“Surely you come to a strange person to make such an inquiry,” said Latour, slowly.

“It will save time, monsieur, if I tell you at once that I am in my master’s confidence.”

“Ah!  Then you should be able to give me most interesting information.”

“I think not, monsieur, nothing more than you know already.  I am aware that you and he planned to rescue Mademoiselle St. Clair, and that she has escaped from the Abbaye Prison.  I know that she is being looked for in every corner of Paris, and that my master is suspected.  It was to me that Jacques Sabatier gave your message bidding my master go to the Chat Rouge tavern in the Rue Charonne.”

“You must be a faithful servant for your master.”

“I am more, a man who loves him.”

“Even so I doubt whether such confidence is wise,” said Latour.

“Wise or not, it happens to serve a useful purpose on this occasion,” Seth returned.  “If he did not return, my master told me to take what steps I thought fit, after waiting three days.  You will know, monsieur, that I have waited three days.”

“So your first idea is to apply to me.  It was natural.”

“You think so, without taking any precaution?”

“Precaution!  I do not follow you.”