"Of course it was not you. I know that very well," said Hanaud. He
called for the bill. "When is that paper published?"
"At seven," said Lemerre.
"They have been crying it in the streets of Geneva, then, for more
than half an hour."
He sat drumming impatiently upon the table until the bill should
be brought.
"By Heaven, that's clever!" he muttered savagely. "There's a man
who gets ahead of me at every turn. See, Lemerre, I take every
care, every precaution, that no message shall be sent. I let it be
known, I take careful pains to let it be known, that no message
can be sent without detection following, and here's the message
sent by the one channel I never thought to guard against and stop.
Look!"
The murder at the Villa Rose and the mystery which hid its
perpetration had aroused interest. This new development had
quickened it. From the balcony Hanaud could see the groups
thickening about the boy and the white sheets of the newspapers in
the hands of passers-by.
"Every one in Geneva or near Geneva will know of this message by
now."
"Who could have told?" asked Ricardo blankly, and Hanaud laughed
in his face, but laughed without any merriment.
"At last!" he cried, as the waiter brought the bill, and just as
he had paid it the light of a match flared up under the trees.
"The signal!" said Lemerre.
"Not too quickly," whispered Hanaud.
With as much unconcern as each could counterfeit, the three men
descended the stairs and crossed the road. Under the trees a
fourth man joined them--he who had lighted his pipe.
"The coachman, Hippolyte," he whispered, "bought an evening paper
at the front door of the house from a boy who came down the street
shouting the news. The coachman ran back into the house."
"When was this?" asked Lemerre.
The man pointed to a lad who leaned against the balustrade above
the lake, hot and panting for breath.
"He came on his bicycle. He has just arrived."
"Follow me," said Lemerre.
Six yards from where they stood a couple of steps led down from
the embankment on to a wooden landing-stage, where boats were
moored. Lemerre, followed by the others, walked briskly down on to
the landing-stage. An electric launch was waiting. It had an
awning and was of the usual type which one hires at Geneva. There
were two sergeants in plain clothes on board, and a third man,
whom Ricardo recognised.
"That is the man who found out in whose shop the cord was bought,"
he said to Hanaud.
"Yes, it is Durette. He has been here since yesterday."
Lemerre and the three who followed him stepped into it, and it
backed away from the stage and, turning, sped swiftly outwards
from Geneva. The gay lights of the shops and the restaurants were
left behind, the cool darkness enveloped them; a light breeze blew
over the lake, a trail of white and tumbled water lengthened out
behind and overhead, in a sky of deepest blue, the bright stars
shone like gold.