"Does it not seem rather singular, Mr. Stapleton, that a member of the Paris police should come to you with a message from the kidnappers?"
Mr. Stapleton frowned. "I had not considered that aspect of the case, Mr. Duvall. I was—and am—too anxious to get my boy back, to care by whom these fellows deliver their terms."
"What was the message, Mr. Stapleton?"
"I am to drive along the road to Versailles tomorrow evening, leaving here at eight o'clock, and moving at the rate of twelve miles an hour. Somewhere on that road, an automobile in passing will signal me with a blue light. I am then to slow up and toss into the other machine a package containing one hundred thousand dollars. If I do this, and make no attempt to follow or capture the rascals, they agree to deliver the child here—at my house—by the time I return home."
Duvall listened to Mr. Stapleton's words with growing interest. "They are a shrewd lot," he exclaimed. "They will get away in their machine, and have ample opportunity to examine the package to see that it contains the amount they demand. By signaling to confederates at any point along the road, or in another automobile, they can advise them whether or not to return the child."
"But how will they be able to do this, without running the risk of being caught?"
"That is easy. They take the boy to Paris, employ a passerby—a man of their own class, no doubt—for a few francs, to deliver him at your door. To trace them, through that means, will be impossible. If you give them the money, the chances are that they will never be caught."
"Nevertheless, I shall give it to them."
"I expected that, Mr. Stapleton. I can understand your feelings. It is not right, of course, to submit to this blackmail; but no doubt, were I situated as you are, I would do the same thing. Still, it is a great pity."
"Why?"