The joy of the Chief of Detectives at having thus come, as he supposed, upon the track of the missing maid, Hortense Petitpré, was somewhat dashed by the doubts freely expressed by the Judge as to the result of any search. Since Block’s return, M. Beaumont le Hardi had developed strong symptoms of discontent and disapproval at his colleague’s proceedings.
“But if it was this Hortense Petitpré how did she get there, by the bridge Henri Quatre, when we thought to find her somewhere down the line? It cannot be the same woman.”
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” interposed Block. “May I say one word? I believe I can supply some interesting information about Hortense Petitpré. I understand that some one like her was seen here in the station not more than an hour ago.”
“Peste! Why were we not told this sooner?” cried the Chief, impetuously.
“Who saw her? Did he speak to her? Call him in; let us see how much he knows.”
The man was summoned, one of the subordinate railway officials, who made a specific report.
Yes, he had seen a tall, slight, neat-looking woman, dressed entirely in black, who, according to her account, had arrived at 10.30 by the slow local train from Dijon.
“Fichtre!” said the Chief, angrily; “and this is the first we have heard of it.”
“Monsieur was much occupied at the time, and, indeed, then we had not heard of your inquiry.”
“I notified the station-master quite early, two or three hours since, about 9 A.M. This is most exasperating!”
“Instructions to look out for this woman have only just reached us, monsieur. There were certain formalities, I suppose.”
For once the detective cursed in his heart the red-tape, roundabout ways of French officialism.
“Well, well! Tell me about her,” he said, with a resignation he did not feel. “Who saw her?”
“I, monsieur. I spoke to her myself. She was on the outside of the station, alone, unprotected, in a state of agitation and alarm. I went up and offered my services. Then she told me she had come from Dijon, that friends who were to have met her had not appeared. I suggested that I should put her into a cab and send her to her destination. But she was afraid of losing her friends, and preferred to wait.”
“A fine story! Did she appear to know what had happened? Had she heard of the murder?”
“Something, monsieur.”
“Who could have told her? Did you?”
“No, not I. But she knew.”
“Was not that in itself suspicious? The fact has not yet been made public.”
“It was in the air, monsieur. There was a general impression that something had happened. That was to be seen on every face, in the whispered talk, the movement to and fro of the police and the guards.”
“Did she speak of it, or refer to it?”
“Only to ask if the murderer was known; whether the passengers had been detained; whether there was any inquiry in progress; and then—”
“What then?”
“This gentleman,” pointing to Block, “came out, accompanied by another. They passed pretty close to us, and I noticed that the lady slipped quickly on one side.”
“She recognized her confederate, of course, but did not wish to be seen just then. Did he, the person with Block here, see her?”
“Hardly, I think; it was all so quick, and they were gone, in a minute, to the cab-stand.”
“What did your woman do?”
“She seemed to have changed her mind all at once, and declared she would not wait for her friends. Now she was in quite a hurry to go.”
“Of course! and left you like a fool planted there. I suppose she took a cab and followed the others, Block here and his companion.”
“I believe she did. I saw her cab close behind theirs.”
“It is too late to lament this now,” said the Chief, after a short pause, looking at his colleagues. “At least it confirms our ideas, and brings us to certain definite conclusions. We must lay hands on these two. Their guilt is all but established. Their own acts condemn them. They must be arrested without a moment’s delay.”
“If you can find them!” suggested the Judge, with a very perceptible sneer.
“That we shall certainly do. Trust to Block, who is very nearly concerned. His future depends on his success. You quite understand that, my man?”
Block made a gesture half-deprecating, half-confident.
“I do not despair, gentlemen; and if I might make so bold, sir, I will ask you to assist? If you would give orders direct from the Prefecture to make the round of the cab-stands, to ask of all the agents in charge the information we need? Before night we shall have heard from the cabman who drove them what became of this couple, and so get our birds themselves, or a point of fresh departure.”
“And you, Block, where shall you go?”
“Where I left him, or rather where he left me,” replied the inspector, with an attempt at wit, which fell quite flat, being extinguished by a frigid look from the Judge.
“Go,” said M. Floçon, 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. Floçon, 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 jeopardized, 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. Floçon,” 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. Floçon.
“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. Floçon 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. Floçon’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.
