Little was said, except to urge the driver to greater speed, until they reached the Rue de Jérusalem, where, after a short parley with one or two lower officials, they were admitted to the presence of the chief of the detectives, a quiet, simple-looking, iron-grey man, with watchful eyes, and a clear, penetrating voice. He listened with profound attention to Lambert's statement, scarcely putting a question, only occasionally restraining the details. Lambert had evidently made a supreme effort to master his terrible emotion, the vital necessity for clearness giving him a force beyond himself.
While Glynn listened with agonized keenness to the recital, he also heard the whispered terrors of his own heart. What horror had befallen the tender, delicate darling whom he had hoped to call his promised wife that day? To what hideous plot had she fallen a victim? He scarcely knew how to restrain the wild impulse to rush forth in hopeless blind pursuit.
Having heard all particulars, M. Claude (the chef) took a sheet of paper, and demanded a description of the young lady. This was furnished by both Lambert and Glynn, the latter eagerly adding some characteristic details of which even the father did not think. Claude then touched a bell, and ordered the subordinate who answered it to telegraph the description at once to every seaport and frontier-town in France, warning the police de sûreté in each place to arrest any person answering to it, no matter who accompanied.
"Time has been lost already," said the immovable chef. "Still, things are always discovered. Have the goodness to answer my questions."
"Will you say," broke in Deering with his supreme air, addressing himself to Glynn, "that I shall be happy to guarantee expenses."
"Damn your money!" cried Lambert, turning on him fiercely; "not a penny of it shall pay for the recovery of my child."
"He doesn't know what he is saying, poor beggar," said Deering in an undertone, with contemptuous pity, and an evil look on his face. "As I don't understand what is going on, I'll leave you. I have an idea she'll make for England, if she hasn't gone off with some Yankee. So I shall write to my lawyers to stir up our detectives. I will call at your hotel for further news this evening, Glynn." He left the bureau, and Glynn gave his undivided attention to the interrogatories, noting with despair, which increased every moment, the hopelessness of the search in the face of nearly twenty-four hours' start.
That the extraordinary finesse of the police should finally succeed was possible, but in the interim what crime might not be committed?
The distinct queries of the astute detective established—That Lambert had risen at his usual hour; that on receiving his coffee from the bonne, he asked if mademoiselle had returned; and finding she had not, remarked that doubtless she had danced well and late, so it was better for her to stay at Madame Davilliers' for the night. He also inquired if Celestine, the bonne, had taken her young lady's morning-dress to Madame Davilliers', to which she replied in the affirmative.
The concierge had heard the bell about two or half-past, had pulled the cordon, heard the door shut—it was a heavy door—and recognized Mademoiselle Lambert's voice; after that there was no trace.