In that man's dark eyes, as he stood watching the cab as it drove off, was a strangely intense look. His face was triangular, with broad forehead and pointed chin. I imagined him to have a rather curious personality. Again I looked at his peculiarly brilliant eyes, and a strange truth flashed upon me. Yes, I remembered that curious expression quite distinctly.
He was the man who had worn the owl's dress in Carnival—the man who had returned to me the notes stolen from poor Reggie! He was an accomplice of the two men of whom I had never entertained the least suspicion.
The truth had been revealed in so amazing a fashion that I was completely staggered. Ernest was an assassin! Had he not admitted how near he had been to arrest, and congratulated himself upon his escape? Had not old Keppel aided him by concealing him on board the Vispera? Once, alas! I had in the roseate days of youth believed in the man who had made love to me; who had flattered and caressed me, and who had declared that I should be his always. Ah! how well I remembered it! How bitterly all the past came back to me. And yet, until that very hour of my discovery that he was an assassin I had never ceased to love him—never for a single instant. We women are strange creatures.
I re-entered the cab, but in the Boulevard St. Michel my driver unfortunately lost sight of the men I had told him to keep in view. They must, I think, have turned suddenly into one of the many side streets, and thus reached the Quai.
For a few moments I sat back in hesitation. Should I return at once to the hotel, or should I go boldly to that man whom I had so fortunately discovered, and charge him with having had in his possession the stolen notes? If I adopted the latter course, I saw that I should only raise an alarm, and the pair I was watching would undoubtedly get clear away. No. The old proverb that "murder will out" had once more asserted its truth. I had made a most amazing discovery, and now my love for Ernest as a man having been transformed to hatred of him as an assassin, I meant slowly to weave a web about the criminals, and when it was complete, I intended to give information to the police, and thus avenge the poor boy's death.
I drove to the nearest telegraph-office and wired to Genoa, urging Ulrica to come to Paris without delay, for I sorely needed the counsel of the woman who was my best friend.
Then I returned to the "Hôtel Terminus." As I heard no one in the sitting-room adjoining, I lay down to rest, sleeping soundly, for my nerves were unstrung, and I was utterly worn out by fatigue and constant watchfulness.
When I awoke it was past seven o'clock, and quite dark. There was still no movement in the sitting-room adjoining. I dressed, and went across to dine at the Duval, over at the corner of the Rue du Havre, preferring that cheap restaurant to the table d'hôte of the hotel, where I might possibly meet the three persons upon whom I was keeping watch.
An hour later, just as I was crossing the road to re-enter the hotel, I saw a man standing alone on the steps in hesitation. He wore a dark beard, and carried a long drab overcoat, such as men generally affect on race-courses; but notwithstanding his disguise, I perceived that it was Ernest. The beard made him look much older, and by the addition of a few lines to his face he had entirely altered his appearance. For some moments he puffed pensively at his cigar, then, glancing at his watch, descended the steps and strolled slowly along past the "Café Terminus," and continued to walk down the Rue du Havre as far as the Boulevard Haussmann, where he stopped before that popular rendezvous of Parisians, the "Grand Café."
After he had selected one of the tables, the last one towards the Madeleine, placed against the wall of the café, he ordered a coffee and liqueur. The night was bright, and the Boulevards, with their blazing globes of electricity, were full of life and movement.