“I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall have my card; and for this insult I demand yours in return.”
“It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed.”
Curiosity, however, prompted me. I was desirous of ascertaining whether his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested. Hastily scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in return. To my astonishment I read:—
“Luis De Hauteroche,
16, Rue Royale.”
I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident. The fellow was no doubt well provided with cards—kept a varied “pack” of them, and this was only another sham one.
I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I had fairly “treed” him.
“Is this your real address?” I inquired, with an incredulous expression.
“Peste! Monsieur, do you still continue your insults? But you shall give me full satisfaction. It is my professional address. See for yourself.”
And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards from the spot where we were standing.
Among other names painted upon the panel I read: