"The handcuffs."
Another disappointment awaited Ricardo. A detective without a false beard was bad enough, but that was nothing to a detective without handcuffs. The paraphernalia of justice were sadly lacking. However, Hanaud consoled Mr. Ricardo by showing him the hard thing; it was almost as thrilling as the handcuffs, for it was a loaded revolver.
"There will be danger, then?" said Ricardo, with a tremor of excitement. "I should have brought mine."
"There would have been danger, my friend," Hanaud objected gravely, "if you had brought yours."
They reached Geneva as the dusk was falling, and drove straight to the restaurant by the side of the lake and mounted to the balcony on the first floor. A small, stout man sat at a table alone in a corner of the balcony. He rose and held out his hands.
"My friend, M. Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete of Geneva," said Hanaud, presenting the little man to his companion.
There were as yet only two couples dining in the restaurant, and Hanaud spoke so that neither could overhear him. He sat down at the table.
"What news?" he asked.
"None," said Lemerre. "No one has come out of the house, no one has gone in."
"And if anything happens while we dine?"