But I didn't pay much attention to him--he doesn't figure in the
case. He didn't even go away with the women. The very day I set out on
my search, he was picked up on the streets somewhere suffering with
apoplexy and taken to a hospital, so nearly dead that it was a
question whether he would recover. So he's out of it. The Jourdains
told me that the women had sailed for France."
"You will pardon me," said my hearer, "but in what way did you make
sure that they were the women you desired?"
"By the younger one's resemblance to Miss Holladay," I answered, lying
with a glibness which surprised myself. "The Jourdains maintained that
a photograph of Miss Holladay was really one of their lodger."
I heard him draw a deep breath, but he kept his face under admirable
control.
"Ah, yes," he said. "That was exceedingly clever. I should never have
thought of that. That is worthy of Monsieur Lecoq. And so you follow
them to France--but, surely, you have some more--what you
call--definite address than that, Mistair Lester!"
I could feel his eyes burning out from the shadows; I was thankful for
the cigarette--it helped me to preserve an indifferent countenance.
"No," I said. "It seems rather a wild-goose chase, doesn't it? But you
could advise me, Mr. Martigny. Where would it be best for me to search
for them?"
He did not answer for a moment, and I took advantage of the
opportunity to select a second cigarette and light it.
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