"Yes, the antidote. She is under the influence of a strange drug. I bought the two vials long ago from an old hag in the East as a curiosity, you see. One drug was to bring sleep, the other to wake at will. Without—" she paused, and her voice broke.
"Without—" he echoed, hoarsely; and in a frightened, guilty voice, she muttered:
"The one, without the other means—death!"
"Fiend!" he hissed, fiercely.
"No, no; do not blame me. I meant no ill. I gave Remond the antidote, to be used when they reached the end of their journey. How could I know you would take the girl from him and hide her? How could I know he would disappear? Find Remond quickly, or her death will lie at your door."
"You speak the truth?" he cried, wildly.
"Before God and the angels, monsieur!"
With a smothered oath he thrust her from him and rushed out again, leaped into the carriage, and gave his orders:
"Like the wind, to the detective agency."
It was two miles distant, and the panting horses were covered with foam when they set him down at his destination. Fortunately the familiar face of the most skillful detective in New Orleans looked at him in surprise from the pavement. He beckoned him into the vehicle.