"Parbleu, now that you mention it——," said the guard, scratching his head, "I think I saw him a while ago at the rear of the train."
Jim Horton scowled. "Find the man with the hooked nose, Monsieur," he muttered.
But the fussy official was now shrugging and gesticulating wildly. It was impossible to do anything more. It was like hunting for a needle in a hay-mow. His train was already an hour late. The search would be taken up in the village where they had stopped, but nothing could be done for the present. The train would be thoroughly searched and then they must go on. In the meanwhile perhaps it would be better for Monsieur and Madame to change to a vacant compartment.
Jim Horton protested, but to no avail. And after another wait, during which there were more waving of lanterns outside and more shouts, the train went on upon its way. He had to confess himself astonished at the desperate measures his enemies had taken to prevent his revelations. Who was the small man with the hooked nose? It wasn't Harry, who was tall—and whose nose was straight. But when they were seated in the new place provided for them, a thought came to Jim and when the guard came around again he questioned.
"Was there anything especially noticeable about the small man with the hooked nose?" asked Jim.
"I don't comprehend, M'sieu."
"Did you notice anything curious in the way he walked for instance?"
"No—yes. Now that you mention it, I think he walked with a slight limp."
Piquette and Jim exchanged quick glances.
"Tricot!" gasped Piquette.