Meanwhile Tony was drawing nearer. He reached the hotel at Eze, and drove through its garden to the door.
"Is Lady Stretton in the hotel?" he asked.
"No, sir. Her ladyship went out to dinner nearly an hour ago."
"Thank you," said Tony. "She arrived this afternoon, I think?"
"Yes, sir. What name shall I give when she returns?"
"No name," said Tony. And he ordered his coachman to drive back to the road.
When he had reached it he directed the man again.
"Towards Beaulieu," he said; and in a little while, on his left hand, below the level of the road, he saw the lights of the Réserve. He stopped at the gate, dismissed his carriage, and walked down the winding drive to the door. He walked into the restaurant. It was empty. A waiter came forward to him.
"I wish you to take me at once to Mr. Callon," he said. He spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. But the waiter nevertheless hesitated. Tony wore the clothes in which he had travelled to Roquebrune. He was covered with dust, his face was haggard and stern. He had nothing in common with the dainty little room of lights and flowers and shining silver, and the smartly dressed couple who were dining there. The waiter guessed that his irruption would be altogether inconvenient.
"Mr. Callon!" he stammered. "He has gone out."