“Châteauroux, madame—a ticket for Châteauroux—”
“Over Mans and Tours?” asked the booking-clerk.
“Of course—the shortest way. Shall I be there for lunch?”
“Oh, no!”
“For dinner? Bedtime—?”
“Oh, no! For that, you would have to go over Paris. The Paris express leaves at nine o’clock. You’re too late—”
It was not too late. Beautrelet was just able to catch the train.
“Well,” said Beautrelet, rubbing his hands, “I have spent only two hours or so at Cherbourg, but they were well employed.”
He did not for a moment think of accusing Charlotte of lying. Weak, unstable, capable of the worst treacheries, those petty natures also obey impulses of sincerity; and Beautrelet had read in her affrighted eyes her shame for the harm which she had done and her delight at repairing it in part. He had no doubt, therefore, that Châteauroux was the other town to which Lupin had referred and where his confederates were to telephone to him.
On his arrival in Paris, Beautrelet took every necessary precaution to avoid being followed. He felt that it was a serious moment. He was on the right road that was leading him to his father: one act of imprudence might ruin all.