"That's the point—the prisoner," said the younger man. "Wait a moment, Mademoiselle."
And he ran down the steps to the boat landing again, peering eagerly down the stream. Already far away, merely a blotch in the shadows beyond the Pont Neuf, there was a boat at the Quai du Louvre.
"Vite, Dupuy. There may be yet time."
And the two of them started running toward the distant bridge, leaving Moira to follow as fast as she could.
When Moira reached them on the opposite side of the river, breathless and almost dead of apprehension, they were questioning a man on the Quai du Louvre. He reported that a man had attempted suicide by drowning and that a woman had saved him just as he was about to leap into the water. She herself had asked his assistance and together they had hailed a passing fiacre in which the woman had driven away.
"Did you notice anything extraordinary about the rescued man?" questioned Dupuy.
"Nothing, except that he was very pale. Also that there was an odor of chloroform on his clothing."
"Chloroform! Are you sure?"
The man shrugged. "You may smell for yourself."
And he extended a hand and arm upon which the odor was unmistakable.