I then described De Gex to the concierge, who repeated the description to the other hotel.
“Yes, m’sieur,” he said, turning again to me. “Henri believes it is the same gentleman whom you describe.”
“Who is he?” asked Rivero, much puzzled.
“Wait—and you will see,” I replied, laughing, for we now seemed to be within an ace of success.
Just before midday we watched the arrival of the train from Montauban, and from it there descended the man we expected—the notorious Despujol. Though his features were unmistakable he was made up to look much older, his hair being made grey above the ears.
At his side there walked a man whom I instantly recognized, and sight of him, I must confess, caused me to hold my breath.
It was the sinister-faced Italian, Doctor Moroni.
We drew back, and hastening to a taxi, returned at once to our hotel, from the door of which we could see the entrance to the Luxembourg, where a few moments later we saw both the travellers enter.
What further devil’s work was now in progress?
We watched the hotel in patience, until just before three o’clock the trio came forth laughing airily.