He bowed with a gesture of dismissal, and Hugh lost no time in leaving the room. As he emerged from the police station a voice hailed him:
“Hullo there! Sorry we didn’t know you were in such a hell of a fix or we’d have got here sooner. They connected with us at Marseilles and we came right on in the car. We’ve just been and interviewed the old guy. You bet we soon straightened things out. By the way, allow me to present you to Mrs. Fetterstein.”
Hugh stared. Fetterstein with a hearty laugh was indicating a lady who was arranging her motoring veil. It was Mrs. Belmire. She looked radiant.
“Yes, we were married in Marseilles yesterday. Oh, I’m so happy! He’s really such a nice old thing. You’ve no idea. We’re going to Italy for our honeymoon. So sorry we didn’t know you were in trouble, or we’d have simply flown to the rescue. He’s made an affidavit, or something of the kind. Well, all’s well that ends well. Now we must be getting on. Come, you precious old dear. Good-bye, Mr. Kildair. Hope we’ll all meet again.”
Hugh had no time for congratulations. They sprang into a great cheese-coloured car, and were gone, leaving him in a state of utter bewilderment.
He made his way slowly back to the house he called home. Forebodings assailed him. The concierge had gone, no doubt dreading awkward explanations. Looking up Hugh saw that the windows of the professor’s room were shuttered. So also were his own. To find his room so dark, so silent, struck a chill to his heart!
“Margot! Margot!”
No reply. He pulled aside the grey curtain. Her bed had not been slept in. He searched everywhere for a note from her. Nothing! Had she carried out her threat? Had she left him as she had said she would?
He went slowly down stairs and asked the tenant of the room below for news. The woman shook her head.
“The petite blonde? No, I know nothing of her. She disappeared the night of the crime.”