“I’ll tell you to-morrow. Give this wire to the night-porter and tell him it’s to be sent at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”
I read the message. It was to Mademoiselle, to say that he could not call, as he was compelled to go to Hyères, but that he would dine at the Bristol that evening.
“And,” he added, “get your traps together. We’re leaving here, and we leave no trace behind—you understand?”
I nodded.
Was the game up? Were we flying because the police suspected us? I recollected the long-nosed man, and a serious apprehension seized me.
I confess I slept but little that night. At half-past six I went again to his room, and found him already dressed.
Motorists often start early on long excursions on the Riviera; therefore it was deemed nothing unusual when, at a quarter-past seven, we mounted on the car and Bindo gave orders—
“Through the town.”
By that I knew we were bound east, for Italy.