The man looked at him in astonishment. "What are you talking about, Monsieur?" he inquired. "Is this then a joke?"
Vernet began to feel a trifle uneasy. This man certainly did not appear to resemble in any way the prisoner he had sought. He was a clean-shaven young man, elegantly dressed, and quite evidently a gentleman. "Do you deny," asked the detective, "that on passing the Avenue Malakoff a few moments ago you flashed a blue light toward the Avenue Kleber?"
The young man laughed. "Of course I deny it," he said. "Why the devil should I be flashing blue lights at the Avenue Kleber? And who are you, to ask me any such nonsensical questions?"
"I am an agent of the police, Monsieur. Who are you?"
"I am Anton Lemaitre, stock broker, of the firm of Lemaitre and Bossard." He handed a card to the dumbfounded Vernet. "I am trying a new automobile, which I think of purchasing. My chauffeur proposed that we try it out in the Bois, where there is more opportunity to speed than in the city."
"Why did you then run away?"
"My dear sir, I saw you following me. I wish to own a fast car—the fastest car in Paris, if possible. I directed my driver to see what he could do. I do not believe, however, that I shall now buy the car, since yours is faster. What make is it, Monsieur, if I may ask?"
Vernet smothered an oath. Clearly this man was telling the truth. He directed his companion to get in with Monsieur Lemaitre. "Drive to the Prefecture," he said, "and let the gentleman tell his story to Monsieur Lefevre." He himself ordered his chauffeur to proceed with all despatch to Mr. Stapleton's house. The affair had ended in a fiasco. He felt that he must see Duvall at once.
In fifteen minutes he was at the house. Mr. Stapleton was waiting patiently in the library for the telephone call which would announce the hiding place of his boy. With him were Mrs. Stapleton and Monsieur Lefevre.
The poor man and his wife were in a pitiable state, their eyes glued to the clock which stood on the mantel. It was marked twenty-six minutes past eight. "Only four minutes more!" gasped Mrs. Stapleton, through her tears. "My God! why don't they hurry?"