"Yes; and now?"
"This proves nothing," said the imperturbable M. Claude. "The dress was deliberately thrown away, either to direct attention on a wrong scent, or simply to get rid of an encumbrance."
"Then you have not advanced since yesterday?"
"Not much. I have found that M. Vincent is at Bordeaux, but alone."
"And you have seen M. Deering?" said Glynn, quickly.
"Yes," returned M. Claude, looking at him for an instant. "He came to seek tidings of the missing young lady, in whom he seems deeply interested."
There was a pause. Glynn sought in his soul for some suggestion to keep the inscrutable detective in conversation. He could not help a conviction that he was in possession of more information than he cared to impart; but nothing came to him.
"You do not, then, believe that any great crime has been committed?" he faltered.
"All things are possible; but I hope that before many days are over you will hear from the young lady herself. I believe it is an unusually clever case of elopement. I have communicated with the English police; but"—an eloquent shrug—"they have fewer facilities than we. My telegram yesterday was too late to catch the Dover mail-boat—not that I think it was of much consequence, for——"
His reason was never uttered; a tap at the door interrupted him. He rose, took a dispatch from the hands of a messenger. Closing the door, he read it, and then with a grim smile said: