He examined the letter for some time, turned it over and over, then stood up and said:
“Come along.”
“Where to?”
“Gare de Lyon.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing with Daubrecq. But, as we have to choose, according to the contents of the letter, between the Gare de l’Est and the Gare de Lyon, [D] I am presuming that his business, his pleasure and his health are more likely to take Daubrecq in the direction of Marseilles and the Riviera than to the Gare de l’Est.”
It was past seven when Lupin and his companions left the Hôtel Franklin. A motor-car took them across Paris at full speed, but they soon saw that Clarisse Mergy was not outside the station, nor in the waiting-rooms, nor on any of the platforms.
“Still,” muttered Lupin, whose agitation grew as the obstacles increased, “still, if Daubrecq booked a berth in a sleeping-car, it can only have been in an evening train. And it is barely half-past seven!”
A train was starting, the night express. They had time to rush along the corridor. Nobody . . . neither Mme. Mergy nor Daubrecq....
But, as they were all three going, a porter accosted them near the refreshment-room: