Returning below, I induced the big Swiss night-porter to rouse the manager; and some ten minutes later the latter came to me in trousers and coat, evidently not in a very good-humour at being disturbed.
He seemed surprised to see me there, and I said with a laugh—
“I suppose you believed I had been arrested?”
“Well,” he replied, “the police took you away.”
“For interrogation only,” I replied. “But I am in search of my friends.”
“And the police are in search of them also, I believe,” he replied abruptly. “It does no good to the reputation of the hotel to have such visitors, m’sieur.”
“Then they have not been arrested!” I cried in delight.
“No. Mademoiselle, I believe, must have recognised the inspector of the Sûreté from Paris as she was coming downstairs. She rushed back and told her father, and hastily seizing her dressing-case, while he took a small bag, they both descended the service stairs and made their exit by the back premises. There was a door below which is always kept locked, but Monsieur Shaw had somehow provided himself with a key in case of emergency, for we found it in the lock. When the police, after arresting you, went upstairs to take the pair, they found they had already flown. They must have rushed down to the station and caught the Paris night express, which was due just about the time they would arrive there.”
“And the police are furious,” I said. “They must be.”
“They have, I believe, just missed a most important, capture.”