"Wait!" I gasped. "Who was it that called?"
"The man with the mustache who asked for you—about whom you inquired."
I turned away. I had thought it was Leroux. Of course it had not been he.
The car glided down the cliff, and stopped a few seconds later, I emerged through another turnstile and found myself in the lower town again at the foot of the precipice, above which rose the château with its imposing façade, the ramparts, and the towering citadel.
The hands of the phantom clock pointed to ten minutes of nine. But I knew the gulf lay before me at the end of the short, narrow street that led down to it, up which I had passed two hours before upon that journey which so nearly ended in the snow-drifts of Souse-le-Cap.
I reached the wharf and raced along the planks. I was in time, although the engines were throbbing in the Sainte-Vierge. But it was not she, but the dark Claire I sought at that moment, and I dashed toward her.
A man barred my approach. He caught me in his strong arms and held me fast. I dash my fists against his face, but he would not let me go.
"Are you mad, monsieur?" he burst out as I continued to struggle. And then I recognized my captor as Captain Dubois.
"Jacqueline is on the Claire!" I cried, trying to make him understand. "They took her there. They——"
"It is all right," answered Dubois, holding me with one hand, while with the other he wiped a blood drop from his lip where I had struck him. "It is all right. I have her."