The time ran on, from minutes into nearly an hour, a very trying wait for Sir Charles. There is always something irritating in doing antechamber work, in kicking one’s heels in the waiting-room of any functionary or official, high or low, and the General found it hard to possess himself in patience, when he thought he was being thus ignominiously treated by a man like M. Floçon. All the time, too, he was worrying himself about the Countess, wondering first how she had fared; next, where she was just then; last of all, and longest, whether it was possible for her to be mixed up in anything compromising or criminal.
Suddenly an electric bell struck in the room. There was a table telephone at Baume’s elbow; he took up the handle, put the tube to his mouth and ear, got his message answered, and then, rising, said abruptly to Sir Charles:
“Come.”
When the General was at last ushered into the presence of the Chief of the Detective Police, he found to his satisfaction that Colonel Papillon was also there, and at M. Floçon’s side sat the instructing judge, M. Beaumont le Hardi, who, after waiting politely until the two Englishmen had exchanged greetings, was the first to speak, and in apology.
“You will, I trust, pardon us, M. le Général, for having detained you here and so long. But there were, as we thought, good and sufficient reasons. If those have now lost some of their cogency, we still stand by our action as having been justifiable in the execution of our duty. We are now willing to let you go free, because—because—”
“We have caught the person, the lady you helped to escape,” blurted out the detective, unable to resist making the point.
“The Countess? Is she here, in custody? Never!”
“Undoubtedly she is in custody, and in very close custody too,” went on M. Floçon, gleefully. “Au secret, if you know what that means—in a cell separate and apart, where no one is permitted to see or speak to her.”
“Surely not that? Jack—Papillon—this must not be. I beg of you, implore, insist, that you will get his lordship to interpose.”
“But, sir, how can I? You must not ask impossibilities. The Contessa Castagneto is really an Italian subject now.”