A cab was called, and Sir Charles, having put the Countess in, was turning to give the driver his instructions, when a fresh complication arose.
Some one coming round the corner had caught a glimpse of the lady disappearing into the fiacre, and cried out from afar.
“Stay! Stop! I want to speak to that lady; detain her.” It was the sharp voice of little M. Floçon, whom most of those present, certainly the Countess and Sir Charles, immediately recognized.
“No, no, no—don’t let them keep me—I cannot wait now,” she whispered in earnest, urgent appeal. It was not lost on her loyal and devoted friend.
“Go on!” he shouted to the cabman, with all the peremptory insistence of one trained to give words of command. “Forward! As fast as you can drive. I’ll pay you double fare. Tell him where to go, Sabine. I’ll follow—in less than no time.”
The fiacre rattled off at top speed, and the General turned to confront M. Floçon.
The little detective was white to the lips with rage and disappointment; but he also was a man of promptitude, and before falling foul of this pestilent Englishman, who had again marred his plans, he shouted to Galipaud—
“Quick! After them! Follow her wherever she goes. Take this,”—he thrust a paper into his subordinate’s hand. “It is a warrant for her arrest. Seize her wherever you find her, and bring her to the Quai l’Horloge,” the euphemistic title of the headquarters of the French police.
The pursuit was started at once, and then the Chief turned upon Sir Charles. “Now it is between us,” he said, fiercely. “You must account to me for what you have done.”
“Must I?” answered the General, mockingly and with a little laugh. “It is perfectly easy. Madame was in a hurry, so I helped her to get away. That was all.”