With the reassuring knowledge that the man who was being sought for by the whole police of Europe had gone to his unsuspicious abode in the Rue de Lalande, we returned to the far platform where a train stood waiting to leave. It was the rapide for Paris by way of Bourges. The man was already in a third-class compartment and as he stood with his head out of the window, Mademoiselle was chatting with him. Truly his stay in Montauban had not been long.
The instant Rivero caught sight of the fellow’s face, he exclaimed:
“Holy Madonna! Why, it is Mateo Sanz, the motor-bandit. We’ve been searching everywhere for him! He shot and killed a carabineer near Malaga a month ago!”
Next second he had left me and a few moments later hurried back. He had bought a ticket.
“Sanz does not know me. As soon as we’ve left the station and are away from Mademoiselle I shall be all right. Remain here. I will wire you, and in any case we shall be together in Nîmes on Monday. But be careful not to be seen by Despujol. He is a wary bird, remember!”
Then, unseen by Mademoiselle, he entered a first-class compartment of the train, just as the signal was given to start.
The train moved off, and I was left alone. Surely much had happened in those few exciting moments!
But why had Mademoiselle Jacquelot warned her friend the motor-bandit? If she had warned him because of Rivero’s inquiries concerning Despujol then she could also warn the latter. Again it was curious that she met Sanz, and did not meet Despujol. Further, it was a strange fact that the pair of Spanish criminals had not travelled together—unless there was some reason for it.
Perhaps there was.