Lépine jumped as though a pin had been driven into him.
"Their telegram? What do you mean?" he cried.
"About an hour after they were gone," Brisson hastened to explain, "or perhaps two hours—I do not know—a messenger appeared with a telegram addressed to a grotesque name—Zhones, Smeet—I do not remember—in care of the Hotel du Nord. I concluded it was for one of them, and told the messenger it was too late, that the man had departed—to Frejus, to Nice—I did not know whither. So he took the telegram back again."
Lépine's eyes were gleaming as he glanced at Crochard.
"I am glad that you have mentioned this detail, M. Brisson," he said. "I thank you—and you also, Madame!" and with that, he and his companions bade the worthy couple adieu.
Once in the street, Crochard paused.
"I will leave you now, M. Lépine," he said. "You have your work to do—but you do not need me. Should I have anything further to communicate, you will hear from me."
"And if we wish to find you?"
"For the present, I am staying with my friend on the Quai de Cronstadt."
"Very good," said Lépine. "Good night," and in a moment he and Pigot were lost in the darkness.