"Come into the studio," she said, leading the way. "My father and Mr. Tollemache will be here soon. Meanwhile I'll ask Mère Pitou to bring some tea. We won't wait. Of course I must tell Dad everything about Madeleine now. We can depend on him for sound advice. He doesn't lose his head in an emergency, and I shall be guided entirely by what he says."
"Naturally," agreed Raymond, throwing the utmost deference into voice and manner. "It is delightful to meet a father and daughter who are on terms of genuine confidence and comradeship. I only meant to suggest, Miss Yvonne, that I should communicate with a friend in Paris who is acquainted with Rupert Fosdyke, and ascertain by that means whether or not Mademoiselle Demoret is in his company. I have taken action already in a small way. Thinking it advisable to keep an eye on him, I telegraphed to my friend this morning, asking him to let me hear if Fosdyke was in Paris, and his address. Here is the reply."
Even in the chaos of the hour Yvonne was conscious of a certain surprise at Raymond's singular foresight; but she took the proffered telegram, and read:
"Yes. Arrived in Paris early yesterday. Residing Hotel Chatham.
"Duquesne."
"Ah, how thoughtful and clever of you!" she cried. "Can anything be done now? Suppose Madeleine is in the train, would Monsieur Duquesne meet her and urge her to return at once?"
"How would he recognize her?"
"Oh, dear! I had not thought of that. But it might be possible to telegraph a general description, and there will not be so many young women traveling alone in a train reaching Paris in the small hours of the morning that he should have no chance of picking out one in particular. I know it is asking a great favor of your friend; but he may act with decision if you hint at a matter of life or death. And it is all that. Poor Madame Brissac will never survive the shame of a public scandal. If Madeleine would only come back, I should meet her on the way, and persuade her to go straight to her cousins in Quimperlé. Don't you see, Mr. Raymond, she would be saved, saved? You have accomplished wonders already. Please don't hesitate, but send a telegram at once. I sha'n't know how to thank you if you succeed in this. But I forget. You cannot write. Let me write for you. Now what is Monsieur Duquesne's address?"
Yvonne, flushed with new hope, was seated already at a small writing table, pen in hand. For once Raymond was caught off his guard. He had not expected this development, and would vastly have preferred a friendly and sympathetic chat; but he dared not refuse the girl's excited demand. Moreover, he would be earning her gratitude and repaying some of Rupert Fosdyke's insults in the same breath. So he blurted out the information:
"Duquesne, 410 Avenue Kleber, Paris."