‘Thank you. Who is speaking, please?’
‘Jules, monsieur, the footman. I am in charge till M. François returns.’
This was unsatisfactory, but quite natural and unsuspicious. La Touche felt fairly satisfied, and yet, almost against his will, a doubt remained. He thought he might be better with company, and made another call.
‘That you, Mallet? Which of you is off duty? You? Well, I want your company to-night on a short excursion. Will you call round for dinner here at seven and we can go on afterwards?’
When Mallet arrived, La Touche showed him the letter. The subordinate took precisely the same view as his chief.
‘I don’t think it’s a plant,’ he said, ‘but with Boirac you can’t be too careful. I should bring your John Cockerill, or whatever you use, if I were you.’
‘I’ll do so,’ said the other, slipping an automatic pistol into his pocket.
They reached the house in the Avenue de l’Alma about 8.15, and La Touche rang. To their surprise and disappointment the door was opened by no less a person than Boirac himself. He seemed to be on the point of going out, as he wore his hat and a dark, caped overcoat which, open at the front, showed his evening dress. Round his right hand was tied a blood-stained handkerchief. He appeared annoyed and as if his temper might give way at any minute. He looked inquiringly at the detectives.
‘Could we see M. François, monsieur,’ asked La Touche politely.
‘If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, certainly,’ answered Boirac. ‘I was just going out when I cut my hand and I had to send him for a doctor to stop the bleeding. He will be back in a moment. If you like to wait, you can do so in his room—the fourth door on the right.’