"That's so, Wulf, that's so; but there is a way of fixing that. You order a drink which I will pay for, then sit here and count all the carriages that pass in the street while I do an errand, it will only take twenty-five minutes.... I'm going to see a girl I know you understand?"
"Yes, Sire. Must I count all the carriages?"
"No, only those drawn by white horses. Au revoir, Wulf."
Fandor left the café and hailed a cab:
"Rue Bonaparte. I'll tell you where to stop." He settled back in his seat, an anxious frown on his face.
"I'll just drop a hint to Juve," he thought. "One never knows what may happen.... I suppose he'll be back soon ... to-morrow morning or evening ... and won't he be glad to hear the result of my search!"
Fandor tapped on the glass with his cane, got out, paid the driver and made his way to the house where Juve lived. He still had his pass-key and let himself in, calling:
"Hello! Juve, are you in?"
There was no answer, so Fandor sat at Juve's desk and wrote a long letter, then tracing a diagram upon another sheet, he put them into an envelope addressed to "Monsieur Juve—Urgent."
When he rejoined Wulf, he found the faithful detective on his job.