"Oh yes, chief . . . a powerful fellow, very dark-skinned . . . a southerner of sorts, that's certain. . . ."
"Ribeira," snarled M. Lenormand. "Always Ribeira! . . . Ribeira, alias Parbury. . . . Oh, the impudence of the scoundrel! He was afraid of what old Steinweg might say . . . and came to fetch him away under my very nose!" And, stamping his foot with anger, "But, dash it, how did he know that Steinweg was here, the blackguard! It's only four hours since I was chasing him in the Saint-Cucufa woods . . . and now he's here! . . . How did he know? . . . One would think he lived inside my skin! . . ."
He was seized with one of those fits of dreaming in which he seemed to hear nothing and see nothing. Mrs. Kesselbach, who passed at that moment, bowed without his replying.
But a sound of footsteps in the corridor roused him from his lethargy.
"At last, is that you, Gourel?"
"I've found out how it was, chief," said Gourel, panting for breath. "There were two of them. They went this way and out of the Place Dauphine. There was a motor-car waiting for them. There were two people inside: one was a man dressed in black, with a soft hat pulled over his eyes . . ."
"That's he," muttered M. Lenormand, "that's the murderer, the accomplice of Ribeira,—Parbury. And who was the other?"
"A woman, a woman without a hat, a servant-girl, it might be. . . . And good-looking, I'm told, with red hair."
"Eh, what! You say she had red hair?"
"Yes."