“Yes. But we knew a lot about her. Wasn’t it strange that we met her at Dinard? We shall have a lovely run across to Boulogne. I suppose it will take us a week or more,” the girl went on. “To-morrow we are going to take you to see the Château of Chinon. You recollect in one of your letters you said you would like to see it. We were there last Wednesday week. So we’re going again to-morrow.”
She went on to ask him the reason he had wired about Madame Claudet, but Falconer successfully evaded her many inquiries.
On the following morning, with the three ladies, Geoffrey was driven along the thirty miles or so of delightful road to the ancient and obscure little town, with its narrow crooked streets, the pretty Vienne river, the historic, old-world place dominated by its three wonderful châteaux: that of St. Georges, built by Henry II of England, the Milieu, and the Coudray, in which lived Joan of Arc—the three forming one great fortress.
The guardian took them around the three castles, to the three towers of Boissy, with its fine Salle des Gardes, and lastly to the three-storeyed prison tower, of which so many terrible stories of mediæval tortures are told. Afterwards they lunched at the old Boule d’Or, down on the Quai Jeanne d’Arc, and then drove to Chenonceux on the road back to Tours, to visit the charming little château—one of the most unique of all Touraine, and which at that moment was in the possession of a well-known American who had bought it from the French Government.
Next day the four set out on the return journey to London. Before leaving the Univers, however, a very unpleasant incident occurred. Geoffrey had paid his bill with a thousand-franc note which he had obtained from the bank in London before his departure and had received the change. Just, however, as he was entering the car to leave, the manager came to him hurriedly and asked him to step into the bureau for a moment. There the note he had given was shown him, and declared to be counterfeit!
Geoffrey stood stupefied, while the manager waxed very angry, declaring that since the war France had been flooded by spurious money brought there and changed by foreigners. Falconer declared his innocence, apologised, and was about to take back the note, when the manager in fury retained it to forward to the Bank of France for destruction. So he was compelled to pay his bill a second time, and also to lose forty pounds or so.
Then, feeling very crestfallen, he rejoined the ladies, without, however, letting them know what had occurred.
That night they stopped at the Hôtel Moderne, at Orleans, and after dinner Geoffrey, without telling them of the incident at Tours, warned them to be on their guard against spurious French bank notes.
“Oh, yes,” said Madame Claudet. “I have heard that recently great quantities of forged notes have been passed all over France. Somebody told me they are being made in Spain. One has to be always on the look-out for them. It would be so annoying to pass one in innocence.”
“Indeed, one could very easily fall into the hands of the police,” exclaimed Mrs. Beverley. “I had a most unpleasant time in Dinard. I bought that little butterfly brooch at a jeweller’s close to the casino, and paid for it, when, to my horror, the man said that one of the notes—one for five hundred francs—was a forgery.”