The Count's Millions [112]
could not possibly have escaped your notice."
This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifying glass--none other than the woman's husband and landlord of the hotel. "Ah! the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2--you remember--the same who insisted upon having the large private room."
"To be sure," replied the wife; "where could my wits have been!" And turning to M. Fortunat: "Excuse my forgetfulness," she added. "The lady is no longer in the house; she only remained here for a few hours."
This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat--he had expected it; and yet he assumed an air of the utmost consternation. "Only a few hours!" he repeated, like a despairing echo.
"Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o'clock in the morning, with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left that same evening at eight o'clock."
"Alas! and where was she going?"
"She didn't tell me."
You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to burst into tears. "Poor Lucy!" said he, in a tragical tone; "it was for me, madame, that she was waiting. But it was only this morning that I received her letter appointing a meeting here. She must have been in despair. The post can't be depended on!"
The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and the expression of their faces unmistakably implied: "What can we do about it? It is no business of ours. Don't trouble us."
But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle.
"She was taken to the railway station, no doubt," he insisted.
"Really, I know nothing about it."
"You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not have left your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who was sent to fetch it? One of your boys? If I could find the driver I should, perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him."
The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a single glance. M. Isidore Fortunat's appearance was incontestably respectable, but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives are perfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So the hotelkeeper quickly decided on his course. "Your idea is an excellent one," he said to M. Fortunat. "This lady must certainly have taken a vehicle on leaving; and what is more, it must have been a vehicle belonging to the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make some inquiries on the subject."
And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles were stationed, while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smoking their pipes "Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening at about eight o'clock?"
"What sort of a person was she?"
"She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years' old, very fair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leather travelling-bag."
"I took her," answered one of the drivers promptly. M. Fortunat advanced toward the man with open arms, and with such eagerness that it might have been supposed he meant to embrace him. "Ah, my worthy fellow!" he exclaimed, "you can save my life!"
The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that this gentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificent gratuity. "What do you want of me?" he asked.
"Tell me where you drove this lady?"
"I took her to the Rue de Berry."
"To what number?"
"Ah, I can't tell. I've forgotten it."
But M. Fortunat no longer felt any anxiety. "Very good," said he. "You've forgotten it--that's not at all strange. But you would know the house again, wouldn't you?"
"Undoubtedly I should."
"Will you take me there?"
"Certainly, sir. This is my vehicle."
The hunter of missing heirs at once climbed inside; but it was not until the carriage had left the courtyard that the landlord returned to his office. "That man must be a detective," he remarked to his wife.
"So I fancy."
"It's strange we're not acquainted with him.
This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifying glass--none other than the woman's husband and landlord of the hotel. "Ah! the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2--you remember--the same who insisted upon having the large private room."
"To be sure," replied the wife; "where could my wits have been!" And turning to M. Fortunat: "Excuse my forgetfulness," she added. "The lady is no longer in the house; she only remained here for a few hours."
This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat--he had expected it; and yet he assumed an air of the utmost consternation. "Only a few hours!" he repeated, like a despairing echo.
"Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o'clock in the morning, with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left that same evening at eight o'clock."
"Alas! and where was she going?"
"She didn't tell me."
You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to burst into tears. "Poor Lucy!" said he, in a tragical tone; "it was for me, madame, that she was waiting. But it was only this morning that I received her letter appointing a meeting here. She must have been in despair. The post can't be depended on!"
The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and the expression of their faces unmistakably implied: "What can we do about it? It is no business of ours. Don't trouble us."
But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle.
"She was taken to the railway station, no doubt," he insisted.
"Really, I know nothing about it."
"You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not have left your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who was sent to fetch it? One of your boys? If I could find the driver I should, perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him."
The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a single glance. M. Isidore Fortunat's appearance was incontestably respectable, but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives are perfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So the hotelkeeper quickly decided on his course. "Your idea is an excellent one," he said to M. Fortunat. "This lady must certainly have taken a vehicle on leaving; and what is more, it must have been a vehicle belonging to the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make some inquiries on the subject."
And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles were stationed, while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smoking their pipes "Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening at about eight o'clock?"
"What sort of a person was she?"
"She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years' old, very fair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leather travelling-bag."
"I took her," answered one of the drivers promptly. M. Fortunat advanced toward the man with open arms, and with such eagerness that it might have been supposed he meant to embrace him. "Ah, my worthy fellow!" he exclaimed, "you can save my life!"
The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that this gentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificent gratuity. "What do you want of me?" he asked.
"Tell me where you drove this lady?"
"I took her to the Rue de Berry."
"To what number?"
"Ah, I can't tell. I've forgotten it."
But M. Fortunat no longer felt any anxiety. "Very good," said he. "You've forgotten it--that's not at all strange. But you would know the house again, wouldn't you?"
"Undoubtedly I should."
"Will you take me there?"
"Certainly, sir. This is my vehicle."
The hunter of missing heirs at once climbed inside; but it was not until the carriage had left the courtyard that the landlord returned to his office. "That man must be a detective," he remarked to his wife.
"So I fancy."
"It's strange we're not acquainted with him.