A smart driver in a dark overcoat came forward, and apparently recognizing Hugh from a description that had been given to him, touched his cap, and asked in French:
“Where does m’sieur wish to go?”
“To the station to fetch my coat and bag,” replied the young Englishman, peering into the driver’s face. He was a clean-shaven man of about forty, broad-shouldered and stalwart. Was it possible that the car had been hired by the police, and the driver was himself a police agent?
“Very well, m’sieur,” the man answered politely. And Hugh having entered, he drove up the Boulevard de la Liberte to the Gare St. Charles.
As he approached the consigne, he looked along the platform, and there, sure enough, was the same woman on the watch, though she pretended to be without the slightest interest in his movements.
Hugh put on his coat, and, carrying his bag, placed it in the car.
“You have your orders?” asked Hugh.
“Yes, m’sieur. We are to go to Cette with all speed. Is not that so?”
“Yes,” was Hugh’s reply. “I will come up beside you. I prefer it. We shall have a long, dark ride to-night.”
“Ah! but the roads are good,” was the man’s reply. “I came from Cette yesterday,” he added, as he mounted to his seat and the passenger got up beside him.