“I will go all round the garden, and bear off in the direction of the wood, so that, if any one tries to escape, I may be able to cut off his retreat.”
“No,” said Marcel. “Let us remain together.”
Just at that moment an old woman appeared before them, dragging a faggot of decayed wood.
She smiled with her toothless mouth, and, stopping to take breath, said—
“Is it the young lady of the villa you want to see? If so—”
“You will not find her here. An hour ago she went away in a cab with all her luggage, in the direction of Sainte-Savine. Cacheu, of the Lion d’Or, drove the cab himself.”
“Gone?” exclaimed Marcel, stupefied.
“So it seems,” said Uncle Graff. “The coup is effected.”
“Impossible!”