The German laughed.
“Then you are mistaken,” he said pleasantly. “The young lady who sings in yonder café is Marie Dulcé and she is a French girl.”
“I had not taken her to be French,” returned Lord Hastings. “Can you tell me where she lives?”
“Why, certainly,” was the reply, and the German named an address and gave the necessary directions for getting there. “I don’t imagine,” he added, “you will find her home much before 12 o’clock, the café does not close until eleven.”
Lord Hastings thanked the man and the latter took himself off.
“Well, we have that much to go on, anyhow,” said Lord Hastings. “Now the best thing for us to do is to go to Mlle. Dulcé’s home and await her arrival.”
“And maybe they won’t let us in,” said Jack.
“We’ll have to chance that.”
An hour later they sought the address given and mounted the steps. Lord Hastings rang the bell. A pleasant-appearing woman of middle age answered their summons. At a glance Lord Hastings knew she was French and he addressed her in that language.
“Could it be that you are Madame Dulcé?” he inquired courteously.