"I am greatly obliged to you," said the stranger, slowly. "For I now know where the letters are. I am very sorry to have troubled you, and I will not inflict my company upon you any longer." With these words he rose, returned to his table, and asked the waiter for his bill.
"I see your little game," thought Puymirol, "you intend to follow me when I leave the restaurant. Try it, old fellow, we shall see." And then, wishing to be quite free in his movements, he also asked for his score.
The two bills were brought at the same time. They both paid, and the stranger rose to go. While he was putting on his overcoat, however, Puymirol asked in a loud voice for some cigars of a particular brand, which, as he knew perfectly well, was not kept in the house. This was done solely for the purpose of convincing the stranger that he did not intend to leave the table for several minutes, and the fellow fell into the trap. Puymirol saw him pass down the main staircase, and disappear behind the curtains of the vestibule. A moment afterwards, he also rose, slipped on his overcoat, and passed out, not by the main exit, but by a side-door, communicating with the Hôtel du Helder, of which the restaurant is an adjunct. He duly proceeded to the hotel entrance, and, peering out, looked up and down the street. It was dark, and no foot passengers were visible, but, finally, inside a wine-shop, brilliantly lighted up and only a few yards off, he saw a person standing near the glass door with his eyes fixed on the restaurant. Puymirol waited ten minutes or more watching this man, and at last the glass door opened, and the fellow crossed the street to the Lion d'Or and spoke to the doorkeeper, who at once darted up the stairs leading to the restaurant. "Good!" thought Puymirol, "the scoundrel wants to find out if I am still at table. When he finds that I have left he will decamp without loss of time. I hope the head-waiter won't tell him which way I went out. But if he does, this man will never suspect that I am still here, and if he should come this way, I can easily conceal myself."
A moment later, the doorkeeper returned and evidently reported the result of his mission. The stranger slipped a gratuity into his hand, crossed the street, and then walked slowly towards the Boulevard Haussmann, without pausing to look around or behind, as he would have done had he suspected that anyone meant to follow him. "My ruse has succeeded," muttered Puymirol, "and the rascal can't escape me now. I certainly mean to follow him, and when I have found out where he lives, all the rest will be plain sailing."
On reaching the end of the Rue du Helder, the man paused for an instant, and then turned down the Rue Taitbout. "Perhaps he isn't going straight home," thought Puymirol. "When he threw the pocket-book into the cab he was bound for the left bank of the river, so he must live in that direction. Perhaps he is now going to see the woman whose cause he has espoused. I must be careful."
Puymirol did not at first realize that to follow a man successfully the pursuer must remain some little distance behind. If he follows him too closely, he is almost sure to attract his attention, and this almost happened at the corner of the Rue de Provence, when the stranger was obliged to stop short to let a carriage pass. He went on his way almost immediately, but it was a lesson that Puymirol profited by. The stranger now went up the Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin, as far as the Place de la Trinité, where he again hesitated, and Puymirol had to hastily conceal himself behind a vehicle. However, the stranger finally decided to cross the square and went down the Rue de Londres, but on reaching the Place de l'Europe he stopped again. A train was passing under the railway bridge, and he leant over the railing to watch it. One might have fancied that he had nothing better to do than to kill time by strolling about the streets. At last, however, he leisurely turned into the Rue de Madrid, and it suddenly occurred to Puymirol that this street crossed the Avenue de Messine, where Blanche Pornic resided. True, he had seen Blanche with an officer at the restaurant, but she might have finished her dinner and have returned home in a cab before now, so possibly this man, who had murdered Dargental, was her hireling. But on reaching the corner of the Avenue de Messine, the stranger, instead of entering that thoroughfare, walked on as far as the Rue de Vigny, a short street, at the end of which the Lescombat mansion stands. The mystery was solved. The stranger was certainly going to the countess's house. He was not in Blanche's employ but in hers. Puymirol forthwith returned to his first plan, which was to make a direct attack upon Madame de Lescombat. He now held her secret, and she could not refuse him anything, for she was at his mercy. Still, it was necessary for him to make sure that the man entered her house, and for some minutes past the pursuit had been attended with much more difficulty. This part of Paris is but little frequented in the evening, and Puymirol and the man he was following were the only persons in the street, so that, if the stranger turned, he could hardly fail to notice his pursuer. However, the stranger did not turn. On the contrary, he walked on with his head bowed upon his breast, and a cigar in his mouth, apparently oblivious to everything transpiring around him. He was already passing the high wall that inclosed the grounds of the Lescombat mansion. There was here a small gate, but, instead of ringing at it, he pushed on towards the boulevard, where the main entrance was situated, and Puymirol finally saw him disappear round the corner. He followed on in hot haste. Two windows of Madame de Lescombat's abode were lighted up—those of the boudoir where the countess usually sat—but the stranger was not in front of the gate. Puymirol thought he must have already gone in, and he himself was about to ring, when he perceived the fellow standing in the middle of the thoroughfare, and gazing at a fountain. However, the light of an approaching omnibus was visible in the distance, and Puymirol thought that the stranger might be waiting for it. But he was again mistaken. The omnibus passed on; the man crossed the boulevard, and turning into the next street, walked off in an exactly opposite direction to that taken by the omnibus. "No matter," muttered Puymirol, "I will not lose sight of him until I see him enter a house. Even then, I must satisfy myself before I leave, that the house he enters is really the one he lives in. Baccarat has nearly ruined me, but I still have enough money about me to bribe a doorkeeper. At all events, I shall persevere until the end."
After going a short distance, the man turned suddenly to the right, into a street that Puymirol was not acquainted with, but which must lead back to the point they had left a few moments before. "Can he have noticed me, and is he trying to throw me off the scent?" Puymirol asked himself for the first time. "Or, has he allowed me to follow him, in order to draw me into some trap? It would not astonish me on the part of such a scoundrel as he is." Indeed, the fellow knew that the pocket-book was in Puymirol's possession, for he had seen it projecting from his coat at the restaurant, and he had every reason to suppose that the letters were still inside it. This reflection made Adhémar pause, but only for a moment. He had gone too far to retreat, so he hurried on again, soliloquising: "Fortunately, I left the letters with George. There are only some lottery tickets in the case, and, after all, I don't see why I should even leave them inside." And, thereupon, he opened the pocket-book, took out the tickets and slipped them into his waistcoat pocket, replacing the case in his coat.
The stranger was now some distance in advance, for the person walking along so rapidly about half-way up the street must certainly be he, and Puymirol, seeing him again turn to the right, hastened on regardless of the noise his boots made on the asphalt. But he had mistaken another pedestrian for the enemy he wished to overtake, for just as he was least expecting it, his foe, emerging from an alley in which he had concealed himself, sprung out upon him, and seized him by the throat. Puymirol was strong, but the attack was so sudden and so violent, that he had not time to defend himself. He felt a violent twist, and that was all. His breath failed him, his arms fluttered, and he lost his footing, falling, half-fainting, upon the pavement. He did not entirely lose consciousness, but his sensations were vague and confused. He fancied that there was a heavy weight upon his chest, that his coat was being unbuttoned and his pockets searched, but all this was done so quickly that he was scarcely aware of it. How many minutes elapsed before he fully regained his senses, he never knew; but when he did recover them, he perceived that his assailant had disappeared. He rose with difficulty, and while satisfying himself that he had no bones broken, he likewise discovered that his pocket-book had disappeared. His watch, his money, and the lottery tickets were safe, however. His assailant had merely wanted to get the letters, and he was foiled in his attempt, for he had not found them.
Puymirol endeavoured to console himself with this reflection, but although he still possessed the letters he did not know what use to make of them. Nothing short of a miracle was now required to extricate him from his dilemma, but Puymirol was no believer in miracles.