At the Villa Rose · Chapter 9 (2/2)

“Let me have it then!”

“I have driven in my motorcar from Geneva to Aix,” Ricardo cried excitedly. “A bridge crosses a ravine high up amongst the mountains. At the bridge there is a Custom House. There⁠—at the Pont de la Caille⁠—your car is stopped. It is searched. You must sign your name in a book. And there is no way round. You would find sure and certain proof whether or no Madame Dauvray’s car travelled last night to Geneva. Not so many travellers pass along that road at night. You would find certain proof too of how many people were in the car. For they search carefully at the Pont de la Caille.”

A dark flush overspread Hanaud’s face. Ricardo was in the seventh Heaven. He had at last contributed something to the history of this crime. He had repaired an omission. He had supplied knowledge to the omniscient. Wethermill looked up drearily like one who has lost heart.

“Yes, you must not neglect that clue,” he said.

Hanaud replied testily:

“It is not a clue. M. Ricardo tells that he travelled from Geneva into France and that his car was searched. Well, we know already that the officers are particular at the Custom Houses of France. But travelling from France into Switzerland is a very different affair. In Switzerland, hardly a glance, hardly a word.” That was true. M. Ricardo crestfallen recognized the truth. But his spirits rose again at once. “But the car came back from Geneva into France!” he cried.

“Yes, but when the car came back, the man was alone in it,” Hanaud answered. “I have more important things to attend to. For instance I must know whether by any chance they have caught our man at Marseilles.” He laid his hand on Wethermill’s shoulder. “And you, my friend, I should counsel you to get some sleep. We may need all our strength tomorrow. I hope so.” He was speaking very bravely. “Yes, I hope so.”

Wethermill nodded.

“I shall try,” he said.

“That’s better,” said Hanaud cheerfully. “You will both stay here this evening; for if I have news, I can then ring you up.”

Both men agreed, and Hanaud went away. He left Mr. Ricardo profoundly disturbed. “That man will take advice from no one,” he declared. “His vanity is colossal. It is true they are not particular at the Swiss Frontier. Still the car would have to stop there. At the Custom House they would know something. Hanaud ought to make inquiries.” But neither Ricardo nor Harry Wethermill heard a word more from Hanaud that night.