‘A good idea. We can find out at once.’
M. Chauvet turned over the pages of his telephone directory and, having found what he wanted, gave a call.
‘Hallo? Is that M. Boirac’s?—Is M. Boirac at home?—About seven o’clock? Ah, thank you. I’ll ring up again later.—No, don’t mind. It’s of no consequence.’
He replaced the receiver.
‘He’s crossing by the 11.00 from Charing Cross, and will be home about seven. If you were to call about half-past six, which is the hour at which he usually returns, your visit would not be suspicious, and you could have a chat with François.’
‘I shall do that, monsieur,’ and with a bow the detective withdrew.
The clocks had just finished chiming the half-hour after six when Lefarge presented himself at the house in the Avenue de l’Alma. François opened the door.
‘Good-evening, M. François. Is M. Boirac at home?’
‘Not yet, monsieur. We expect him in about half an hour. Will you come in and wait?’
Lefarge seemed to consider, and then,—