"Decidedly, I must be getting back!" Lépine murmured; and, having arrived at the Prefecture, he sent a long telegram to his assistant at Paris and another to the Prefect at Brest. Then he summoned Pigot. "You will interrogate the cabmen at the Gare Centrale," he said, "as to which of them drove a white-haired man and a dark-haired girl to the station for the Paris express, Monday morning. And, understand well, Pigot, there must be no failure this time!" Then, as the door closed behind Pigot's retiring figure, he slapped himself smartly on the forehead. "I am a fool!" he cried, and hurried from the building and called a cab.
There are many dealers in electrical supplies at Toulon, and it was not until he reached the fourth one that Lépine found a ray of light. No; its proprietor had no recollection of any sales to strangers. A little white-haired man? No. But stay—there had been a white-haired man! No, he had bought nothing. He had had a battery recharged—a heavy battery of an unusual type. Yes, it had been delivered. One moment, and the man slowly turned the pages of his ledger, while Lépine bit his lips with impatience. Here it was—the address—80 Rue du Plasson, fourth floor.
In another moment, Lépine's cab was rattling over the cobbles in the direction of the quays.
"Faster! Faster!" he urged.
And then they were in the Rue du Plasson.
"Behold Number Eighty, sir," said the cabman, and pulled up sharply.
There was already a cab at the curb, and as Lépine jumped out, the door of the house opened and Pigot appeared on the threshold. He stared at his chief in astonishment.
"I was just coming to report to you, sir," he said. "The birds have flown."
"Indeed!" sneered Lépine. "So you have discovered that, have you? But the installation is here, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," answered Pigot, very red. "On the fourth floor."