"Jules Jeanjean!" choked out the man in the shabby straw hat. "Is that the actual truth, M'sieur?"
"It is," I replied. "And now you know the cause of my anxiety."
"Why, there is a reward of four hundred thousand francs for his capture, offered by companies who have insured jewels he has stolen," he cried.
"I know. Now, what shall we do?" I asked, feeling myself helpless, for at that moment I saw the motor-boat draw away from the yacht, with only one occupant, the man driving the engine. It had turned and was speeding along the coast back in the direction of the villa, white foam rising at its elevated bows.
"What can we do?" queried my companion. "That yacht is the fastest privately owned craft in the Mediterranean. It is the Carlo Alberta, the Italian torpedo-boat built at Spezzia two years ago. Because it did not quite fulfil the specifications, it was disarmed and sold. The Count purchased her, and turned her into a yacht."
"But surely there must be some craft on which we could follow?" I exclaimed. "Let's see."
We drove down to the port, and after a few rapid inquiries at the bureau of the harbour-master, found that there was lying beyond the Mole, a big steam-yacht belonging to an American railway magnate named Veale. The owner and some ladies were on board, and he might perhaps assist the police and give chase.
Quickly we were aboard the fast motor-boat belonging to the harbour authorities, but ere we had set out, the Carlo Alberta, with long lines of black smoke issuing from her funnels, had weighed anchor and was slowly steaming away.
Silas J. Veale, of the New York Central Railroad, a tall, very thin, very bald-headed man in a smart yachting suit, greeted us pleasantly when we boarded his splendid yacht. When he heard our appeal he entered into the adventure with spirit and gave the order to sail at once.