"Yes. But I forget the name."
"Petre is her right name," I interrupted. Then I suggested to Frémy: "Ask the other clerk to look through the letter 'P.'"
"Non, m'sieur!" exclaimed the fair-haired employée. "The name she asked for was in my division. It was not P."
"Then she must have asked for a name that was not her own," I said.
"And it seems very much as though we have lost the gang by a few hours," Frémy said disappointedly. "My own opinion is that they left Brussels by the Orient Express last night. They did not call at the usual time yesterday."
"They may come this evening," I suggested.
"Certainly they may. We shall, of course, watch," he replied.
"When the man and woman called the day before yesterday," continued the employée, "there was a second man—a dark-faced Indian with them, I believe. He stood some distance away, and followed them out. It was his presence which attracted my attention and caused me to remember the incident."
Frémy exchanged looks with me. I knew he was cursing his fate which had allowed the precious trio to slip through his fingers.
Yet the thought was gratifying that when the express ran into the Great Westbahnhof at Vienna, the detectives would at once search it for the fugitives.