‘And it was on the Friday morning M. Boirac returned?’
‘That is so, monsieur.’
Lefarge rose.
‘A thousand thanks, monsieur. I am very grateful to you for saving me a long wait.’
He left the office and, walking to the Simplon station of the Metropolitaine, took the train for the centre of the town. He was pleased with his progress. As in the earlier stages of the inquiry, information was coming in rapidly. At first he was inclined to think he had already got enough to confirm the first portion of Boirac’s statement, then his training re-asserted itself, and he decided to go back to the house in the Avenue de l’Alma, and if possible get François’ corroboration. He therefore alighted at Châtelet and took the Maillot train to Alma, walking down the Avenue.
‘Ah, M. François,’ he began, when the butler opened the door. ‘Here I am back to trouble you again. Can you spare me a couple of minutes?’
‘Certainly, monsieur. Come in.’
They went to the same small sitting-room and Lefarge produced his Brazilian cigarettes.
‘How do you like them?’ he asked, as the butler helped himself. ‘Some people think they’re too strong, but they suit me down to the ground. Like strong whiffs, only without the cigar flavour. I won’t keep you a moment. It’s just about that bag of M. Boirac’s you took to the Gare du Nord last Tuesday. Tell me, were you followed to the station?’
‘Followed, monsieur? I? Why no, certainly not. At least not that I know of.’