"But, Mademoiselle, what was he like?" repeated the officer, finding some difficulty in repressing his anger.
"The man I saw, Monsieur, or the man you saw, or the man your sergeant saw? There are so many—they confuse me."
"The man you saw. Come, Mademoiselle, we are wasting time. Was he a white man, or a Chinaman, or what?"
"Oh, his colour! Really, I cannot say. You see, Monsieur, the sun was in my eyes. I saw his back plainly, a broad back; but he was riding fast, and hitting his pony; yes, poor thing! he was hitting it very hard."
The lieutenant hesitated; Jack held his breath.
"You will pardon me, Mademoiselle, if I ask you to let me search your house."
"Not my house, Monsieur. It belongs to Father Mayenobe."
"Peste!" he exclaimed as he dismounted. "This house, whosesoever it is. The man gave us the slip in this neighbourhood, and my orders are to capture him."
"Certainly search, Monsieur. Father Mayenobe is away from home, or I am sure he would receive you as the occasion demands. The house is open to you. Perhaps a few of you would enter at a time?"
The frowning officer glanced at her, unable to decide whether she was mocking him. But her face was perfectly grave.