But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle.
“She was taken to the railway station, no doubt,” he insisted.
“Really, I know nothing about it.”
“You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not have left your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who was sent to fetch it? One of your boys? If I could find the driver I should, perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him.”
The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a single glance. M. Isidore Fortunat’s appearance was incontestably respectable, but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives are perfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So the hotelkeeper quickly decided on his course. “Your idea is an excellent one,” he said to M. Fortunat. “This lady must certainly have taken a vehicle on leaving; and what is more, it must have been a vehicle belonging to the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make some inquiries on the subject.”
And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles were stationed, while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smoking their pipes “Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening at about eight o’clock?”
“What sort of a person was she?”
“She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years’ old, very fair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leather travelling-bag.”
“I took her,” answered one of the drivers promptly. M. Fortunat advanced toward the man with open arms, and with such eagerness that it might have been supposed he meant to embrace him. “Ah, my worthy fellow!” he exclaimed, “you can save my life!”
The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that this gentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificent gratuity. “What do you want of me?” he asked.