"We can only obey our orders, m'sieur," replied the man in the dark overcoat.
"Then may I not write a line to my wife, just one word of excuse?" he pleaded.
The two police agents consulted.
"Well," replied the elder of the pair, who was the one in authority, "if you wish to scribble a note, here are paper and pencil." And he tore a leaf from his notebook and handed it to the prisoner.
By the light of the head-lamps of the car Paul scribbled a few hurried words to Blanche: "I am detained on important business," he wrote. "I will return to-morrow. My love to you both.—Paul."
The detective read it, folded it carefully, and handed it to his assistant, telling him to go up to the château and deliver it at the servants' entrance.
When he had gone the detective, turning to the chauffeur, said: "I shall require you to take us to Verdun."
"This is not my car, m'sieur," replied Paul. "It belongs to General Molon."
"That does not matter. I will telephone to him an explanation as soon as we arrive in Verdun. We may as well enter the car as stand here."
Paul Le Pontois was about to protest, but what could he say? The Minister in Paris had apparently committed some grave error in thus ordering his arrest. No doubt there would be confusion, apologies and laughter. So, with a light heart at the knowledge that he had committed no offence, he got into the car, and allowed the polite police agent to seat himself beside him.