"Absolutely sure."
"That will do."
Joseph heaved a sigh of relief and was just passing out when the commissary cried out with a startled expression: "A thousand thunders! Wait! That woman—what did she wear?"
The waiter turned eagerly. "Why, a beautiful evening gown, sir, cut low with a lot of lace and——"
"No, no. I mean, what did she wear outside? Her wraps? Weren't they in Number Six?"
"No, sir, they were downstairs in the cloakroom."
"In the cloakroom!" He bounded to his feet. "Bon sang de bon Dieu! Quick! Fool! Don't you understand?"
This outburst stirred Joseph to unexampled efforts; he fairly hurled his massive body down the stairs, and a few moments later returned, panting but happy, with news that the lady in Number Six had left a cloak and leather bag in the cloakroom. These articles were still there.
"Ah, that is something!" murmured the commissary, and he hurried down to see the things for himself.
The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from a fashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bag was a luxurious trifle in Brazilian lizard skin, with solid-gold mountings; but again there was no clew to the owner, no name, no cards, only some samples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief.