Nevertheless, he did not allow himself to be cast down. On the one hand, he now knew where Daubrecq the deputy hid the crystal stopper. On the other hand, he would soon learn from Clarisse Mergy where Daubrecq himself was lurking. The rest, to him, would be child’s play.
The Growler and the Masher were waiting for him in the drawing-room of the Hôtel Franklin, a small family-hotel near the Trocadero. Mme. Mergy had not yet written to him.
“Oh,” he said, “I can trust her! She will hang on to Daubrecq until she is certain.”
However, toward the end of the afternoon, he began to grow impatient and anxious. He was fighting one of those battles—the last, he hoped—in which the least delay might jeopardize everything. If Daubrecq threw Mme. Mergy off the scent, how was he to be caught again? They no longer had weeks or days, but only a few hours, a terribly limited number of hours, in which to repair any mistakes that they might commit.
He saw the proprietor of the hotel and asked him:
“Are you sure that there is no express letter for my two friends?”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“Nor for me, M. Nicole?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s curious,” said Lupin. “We were certain that we should hear from Mme. Audran.”