"Yes, gentlemen, those were his very words!" said Madame Brisson, with an emphatic nod.
"And there is a final proof," went on Brisson, excitedly; "a proof conclusive. When I present my bill, the one who takes it grows quite red with anger. It was a most reasonable bill—ninety-six francs for three days, with many extras—a most reasonable bill, for Americans. It was then that I knew there was something wrong—that they were imposters who feared the police. It was only that which prevented a scene. 'Gabrielle,' I said, as they went away down the street, 'those men have something to conceal.'"
"Yes, gentlemen," put in Gabrielle, "he said just that."
"There is even worse to come, sirs," and Brisson dropped his voice as one does in speaking of great horrors. "You will scarcely credit it, but, after having had us at their heels for three days, upstairs, downstairs; after compelling us to arise in the dark of night to prepare their breakfasts—this person handed me a note for a hundred francs and said with a lordly air, 'You may keep the change.' The change—four francs! And yet from his manner you would have thought he was giving me a fortune!"
"Have you still that hundred-franc note?" Lépine inquired.
"But certainly, sir," answered Madame Gabrielle, and, turning her back to the company, she stooped quickly and arose with the bill in her hand.
Lépine took it and examined it carefully by the light of the candle. It was a new note, apparently fresh from the bank, and the Prefect's eyes were shining with satisfaction when he raised his head.
"I shall have to retain this," he said. "One moment," he added, as Madame Brisson opened her lips to protest; "I shall, of course, give you another for it," and he drew out his purse, placed the new note carefully in a flapped compartment, selected another and handed it to the anxious lady, who received it with a sigh of relief. "And now!" went on Lépine, "please tell us all that you can remember about these men—every small detail."
Both Monsieur and Madame Brisson grew voluble at once, for rarely had it been their fortune to address so attentive an audience. But there were few grains of wheat among the chaff. The two strangers had arrived, it appeared, on the evening of the twenty-second, Friday. They were Americans, they said, on a walking tour. Their names? Brisson did not remember; but they would be found on the police registration slip which he had caused them to fill out at once and had sent to the Prefecture that very evening. He had noticed on the slip that they had come from Marseilles and were on their way to Nice. Their bags had already arrived from Marseilles, and, at their direction, he had had them brought up from the station.
"Where are the bags now?" asked Lépine.