"You have sent—to the police?"
"Naturally. But in Paris—Monsieur must excuse me if I speak plainly—a disappearance of this sort is never regarded seriously by them. You know the life here without doubt, Monsieur! Your accent proves that you are well acquainted with the city. No doubt their conclusions are based upon direct observation, and in most cases are correct—but it is very certain that Monsieur the Superintendent regards such disappearances as these as due to one cause only."
Duncombe frowned, and something flashed in his eyes which made the manager very glad that he had not put forward this suggestion on his own account.
"With regard to the boy," he said, "this might be likely enough. But with regard to the young lady it is of course wildly preposterous. I will go to the police myself," he added, rising.
"One moment, Sir George," the manager continued. "The disappearance of the young lady was a source of much trouble to me, and I made all possible inquiries within the hotel. I found that on the day of her disappearance Mademoiselle had been told by one of the attendants in the barber's shop, who had waited upon her brother on the night of his arrival, that he—Monsieur Guy—had asked for the name of some cafés for supper, and that he had recommended Café Montmartre. Mademoiselle appears to have decided to go there herself to make inquiries. We have no doubt that when she left the hotel on the night of her disappearance it was to there that she went."
"You have told the police this?"
"Yes, I have told them," the manager answered dryly. "Here is their latest report, if you care to see it."
Duncombe took the little slip of paper and read it hastily.
"Disappearance of Mademoiselle Poynton, from England.—We regret to state no trace has been discovered of the missing young lady.
"(Signed) Jules Legarde, Superintendent."