"Perfectly, Monsieur. He is called 'François.'"
"Very likely," said Berry. "Very likely. I call him Herbert!"
"Monsieur le Comte," said Herbert, stepping into the room.
"Ah, Herbert," said Berry airily, "we meet again." He nodded at the official. "Just tell this gentleman about this morning, will you? He would, I think, be interested."
To say that Herbert came up to the scratch is to do scant justice to the testimony which he gave and to the manner in which he gave it. He swore to Berry: he swore to me: and in all honesty he swore to the car. For this, since Ping and Pong were duplicates, he may be forgiven. He described the morning's incident with a wealth of picturesque detail and an abundance of vivid imagery, while an astute cross-examination only served to adorn the sincerity of his tale.
Finally, in response to his entreaties, police and all, we followed him into the street, where, displaying a histrionic ability which was truly French, he proceeded to reconstruct and rehearse his great adventure with the enthusiasm of a zealot.
Watch in hand, Berry touched the chief of the police upon the shoulder.
"By now," he said, "I think my cousin may have reached Pau. If you would like to telephone…."
He stopped suddenly to peer right and left into the darkness.
The gentry had disappeared.