"Go," said M. Flocon, briefly and severely, to his subordinate; "and remember that you have now to justify your retention on the force."
Then, turning to M. Beaumont le Hardi, the Chief went on pleasantly: "Well, M. le Juge, it promises, I think; it is all fairly satisfactory, eh?"
"I am sorry I cannot agree with you," replied the Judge, harshly. "On the contrary, I consider that we-or more exactly you, for neither I nor M. Garraud accept any share in it-you have so far failed, and miserably."
"Your pardon, M. le Juge, you are too severe," protested M. Flocon, quite humbly.
"Well! Look at it from all points of view. What have we got? What have we gained? Nothing, or, if anything, it is of the smallest, and it is already jeopardised, if not absolutely lost."
"We have at least gained the positive assurance of the guilt of certain individuals."
"Whom you have allowed to slip through your fingers."
"Ah, not so, M. le Juge! We have one under surveillance. My man Galipaud is there at the hotel watching the Countess."
"Do not talk to me of your men, M. Flocon," angrily interposed the Judge. "One of them has given us a touch of his quality. Why should not the other be equally foolish? I quite expect to hear that the Countess also has gone, that would be the climax!"
"It shall not happen. I will take the warrant and arrest her now, at once, myself," cried M. Flocon.
"Well, that will be something, yet not much. Yes, she is only one, and not to my mind the most criminal. We do not know as yet the exact responsibility of each, the exact measure of their guilt; but I do not myself believe that the Countess was a prime mover, or, indeed, more than an accessory. She was drawn into it, perhaps involved, how or why we cannot know, but possibly by fortuitous circumstances that put an unavoidable pressure upon her; a consenting party, but under protest. That is my view of the lady."
M. Flocon shook his head. Prepossessions with him were tenacious, and he had made up his mind about the Countess's guilt.
"When you again interrogate her, M. le Juge, by the light of your present knowledge, I believe you will think otherwise. She will confess,-you will make her, your skill is unrivalled,-and you will then admit, M. le Juge, that I was right in my suspicions."
"Ah, well, produce her! We shall see," said the Judge, somewhat mollified by M. Flocon's fulsome flattery.
"I will bring her to your chamber of instruction within an hour, M. le Juge," said the detective, very confidently.
But he was doomed to disappointment in this as he was in other respects.
CHAPTER XV
Let us go back a little in point of time, and follow the movements of Sir Charles Collingham.
It was barely 11 A.M. when he left the Lyons Station with his brother, the Reverend Silas, and the military attaché, Colonel Papillon. They paused for a moment outside the station while the baggage was being got together.
"See, Silas," said the General, pointing to the clock, "you will have plenty of time for the 11.50 train to Calais for London, but you must hurry up and drive straight across Paris to the Nord. I suppose he can go, Jack?"
"Certainly, as he has promised to return if called upon."
And Mr. Collingham promptly took advantage of the permission.
"But you, General, what are your plans?" went on the attaché.
"I shall go to the club first, get a room, dress, and all that. Then call at the Hotel Madagascar. There is a lady there,-one of our party, in fact,-and I should like to ask after her. She may be glad of my services."
"English? Is there anything we can do for her?"
"Yes, she is an Englishwoman, but the widow of an Italian-the Contessa di Castagneto."
"Oh, but I know her!" said Papillon. "I remember her in Rome two or three years ago. A deuced pretty woman, very much admired, but she was in deep mourning then, and went out very little. I wished she had gone out more. There were lots of men ready to fall at her feet."
"You were in Rome, then, some time back? Did you ever come across a man there, Quadling, the banker?"
"Of course I did. Constantly. He was a good deal about-a rather free-living, self-indulgent sort of chap. And now you mention his name, I recollect they said he was much smitten by this particular lady, the Contessa di Castagneto."
"And did she encourage him?"
"Lord! how can I tell? Who shall say how a woman's fancy falls? It might have suited her too. They said she was not in very good circumstances, and he was thought to be a rich man. Of course we know better than that now."
"Why now?"
"Haven't you heard? It was in the Figaro yesterday, and in all the Paris papers. Quadling's bank has gone to smash; he has bolted with all the 'ready' he could lay hands upon."
"He didn't get far, then!" cried Sir Charles. "You look surprised, Jack. Didn't they tell you? This Quadling was the man murdered in the sleeping-car. It was no doubt for the money he carried with him."
"Was it Quadling? My word! what a terrible Nemesis. Well, nil nisi bonum, but I never thought much of the chap, and your friend the Countess has had an escape. But now, sir, I must be moving. My engagement is for twelve noon. If you want me, mind you send-207 Rue Miromesnil, or to the Embassy; but let us arrange to meet this evening, eh? Dinner and a theatre-what do you say?"
Then Colonel Papillon rode off, and the General was driven to the Boulevard des Capucines, having much to occupy his thoughts by the way.
It did not greatly please him to have this story of the Countess's relations with Quadling, as first hinted at by the police, endorsed now by his friend Papillon. Clearly she had kept up her acquaintance, her intimacy to the very last: why otherwise should she have received him, alone, been closeted with him for an hour or more on the very eve of his flight? It was a clandestine acquaintance too, or seemed so, for Sir Charles, although a frequent visitor at her house, had never met Quadling there.
What did it all mean? And yet, what, after all, did it matter to him?
A good deal really more than he chose to admit to himself, even now, when closely questioning his secret heart. The fact was, the Countess had made a very strong impression on him from the first.
He had admired her greatly during the past winter at Rome, but then it was only a passing fancy, as he thought,-the pleasant platonic flirtation of a middle-aged man, who never expected to inspire or feel a great love. Only now, when he had shared a serious trouble with her, had passed through common difficulties and dangers, he was finding what accident may do-how it may fan a first liking into a stronger flame. It was absurd, of course. He was fifty-one, he had weathered many trifling affairs of the heart, and here he was, bowled over at last, and by a woman he was not certain was entitled to his respect.
What was he to do?
The answer came at once and unhesitatingly, as it would to any other honest, chivalrous gentleman.
"By George, I'll stick to her through thick and thin! I'll trust her whatever happens or has happened, come what may. Such a woman as that is above suspicion. She must be straight. I should be a beast and a blackguard double distilled to think anything else. I am sure she can put all right with a word, can explain everything when she chooses. I will wait till she does."
Thus fortified and decided, Sir Charles took his way to the Hotel Madagascar about noon. At the desk he inquired for the Countess, and begged that his card might be sent up to her. The man looked at it, then at the visitor, as he stood there waiting rather impatiently, then again at the card. At last he walked out and across the inner courtyard of the hotel to the office. Presently the manager came back, bowing low, and, holding the card in his hand, began a desultory conversation.