But he was soon to know it.
When the chief took down the telephone, Nick picked up a paper that was lying on the desk and was scanning the front page, when an ejaculation from his companion caused him to turn his head and regard the man attentively.
“Very well,” he heard the chief say over the phone, in French, “let nothing throw you off the scent, Mouquin. Keep me informed. Let me know everything concerning her with the least possible delay. It is vitally important, just at this time.”
He replaced the receiver on its hook and turned to Nick Carter.
“My friend,” he said, “you will admit that perhaps I am not an unwise prophet. You are here in Paris on the trail of The Leopard; The Leopard is here in Paris on your trail. I am so informed by one of my best men, Mouquin by name. What will you?”
“Do you mean to tell me that Juno is in Paris?” asked Nick, interested.
“She has only just left the train at the gare du nord,” was the reply.
“Are you sure that there can be no mistake, chief?”
“Perfectly.”