“Marie!” called Pointer, and the maid came running up. “Was mademoiselle wearing carnations when she came to tea?”
Marie shook her head with a smile.
“Ah, monsieur met her, then, later? I did give her a bunch when she was leaving. Mademoiselle loves them so.”
Marie was quite certain that Christine had only been in the loggia and the boudoir during her afternoon call.
Watts, who had joined the little group, shook his head. No one was in the house. Pointer walked swiftly downstairs and out on to the drive.
“How much petrol has been taken, Pierre?” asked the Chief Inspector. “As I said, we must catch up with mademoiselle, in her own interests, to-night. It is a question of a paper she must sign. These gentlemen have come as witnesses.”
Pierre rushed off to the garage. “No tin has been touched, and there was very little in the car.”
Pointer stood motionless. Carter started to speak, but a glance from the police-officer's eyes stopped him. Every mental nerve of Pointer's was strung taut to the call he was making on it. Where had Christine gone or been taken? He wasted no time on speculating on the why. He looked at the tyre-tracks from the garage to the house, which showed fairly clearly in the dust.
“Those wheels wouldn't do for any hill climbing. Who generally drove the car?” he asked in French.
“Generally M. Clark. Sometimes, though rarely, M. le Majeur. Neither would try to climb with those tyres.”