Hanaud leaned back in his chair and took a pull at his cigar.  He was obviously pleased with Wethermill’s admiration.

“Yes, how did you find it out?” Ricardo repeated.

Hanaud smiled.

“As to that,” he said, “remember I am the captain of the ship, and I do not show you my observation.”  Ricardo was disappointed.  Harry Wethermill, however, started to his feet.

“We must search Geneva, then,” he cried.  “It is there that we should be, not here drinking our coffee at the Villa des Fleurs.”

Hanaud raised his hand.

“The search is not being overlooked.  But Geneva is a big city.  It is not easy to search Geneva and find, when we know nothing about the woman for whom we are searching, except that her hair is red, and that probably a young girl last night was with her.  It is rather here, I think—­in Aix—­that we must keep our eyes wide open.”

“Here!” cried Wethermill in exasperation.  He stared at Hanaud as though he were mad.

“Yes, here; at the post office—­at the telephone exchange.  Suppose that the man is in Aix, as he may well be; some time he will wish to send a letter, or a telegram, or a message over the telephone.  That, I tell you, is our chance.  But here is news for us.”

Hanaud pointed to a messenger who was walking towards them.  The man handed Hanaud an envelope.

“From M. le Commissaire,” he said; and he saluted and retired.  “From M. le Commissaire?” cried Ricardo excitedly.

But before Hanaud could open the envelope Harry Wethermill laid a hand upon his sleeve.

“Before we pass to something new, M. Hanaud,” he said, “I should be very glad if you would tell me what made you shiver in the salon this morning.  It has distressed me ever since.  What was it that those two cushions had to tell you?”

There was a note of anguish in his voice difficult to resist.  But Hanaud resisted it.  He shook his head.

“Again,” he said gravely, “I am to remind you that I am captain of the ship and do not show my observation.”

He tore open the envelope and sprang up from his seat.

“Mme. Dauvray’s motor-car has been found,” he cried.  “Let us go!”

Hanaud called for the bill and paid it.  The three men left the Villa des Fleurs together.

CHAPTER IX

MME. DAUVRAY’S MOTOR-CAR

They got into a cab outside the door.  Perrichet mounted the box, and the cab was driven along the upward-winding road past the Hotel Bernascon.  A hundred yards beyond the hotel the cab stopped opposite to a villa.  A hedge separated the garden of the villa from the road, and above the hedge rose a board with the words “To Let” upon it.  At the gate a gendarme was standing, and just within the gate Ricardo saw Louis Besnard, the Commissaire, and Servettaz, Mme. Dauvray’s chauffeur.

“It is here,” said Besnard, as the party descended from the cab, “in the coach-house of this empty villa.”