My spirits rose with my release, but there was still more than freedom
to encourage my light-heartedness. I heard now and definitely of my
fugitive lady. Falloon had come upon undoubted evidence that she had
never left the great Jura-Simplon station, but had remained quietly
out of sight in the "ladies' waiting-room" until the next train left
for Geneva. This was at 1.35 P.M., and she must have slipped away
right under my eyes into the very train which had brought me back from
Vevey. So near are the chances encountered in such a profession as
ours.
Falloon had only ascertained this positively on the second day of my
detention, but with it the information that only two first-class
tickets, both for Geneva, had been issued by that train. To make it
all sure he had taken the precaution to ask at all the stations along
the line at which the train had stopped, seven in number, and had
learned that no persons answering to my ladies had alighted at any of
them. So my search was carried now to Geneva, and it might be possible
to come upon my people there, although I was not oversanguine. I knew
something of the place. I had been there more than once, had stayed
some time, and I knew too well that it is a city with many issues,
many facilities for travelling, and, as they had so much reason for
moving on rapidly, the chances were that they would have already
escaped me.
However, with Falloon I proceeded to Geneva without delay, and began a
systematic search. We made exhaustive inquiries at the Cornavin
station, where we arrived from Lausanne, and heard something.
The party had certainly been seen at this very station. Two ladies,
one tall, the other short, with a baby. They had gone no further then;
they had not returned to the station since. So far good. But there was
a second station, the Gare des Vollondes, at the opposite end of the
city, from which ran the short line to Bouveret on the south shore of
the lake, and I sent Falloon there to inquire, giving him a rendezvous
an hour later at the Café de la Couronne on the Quai du Lac. Meanwhile
I meant to take all the hotels in regular order, and began with those
of the first class on the right bank, the Beau Rivage, the Russie, de
la Paix, National, Des Bergues, and the rest. As I drew blank
everywhere I proceeded to try the hotels on the left bank, and made
for the Pont de Mont Blanc to cross the Rhone, pointing for the
Metropole.
Now my luck again greatly favoured me. Just as I put my foot upon the
bridge I saw a figure approaching me, coming from the opposite
direction.
I recognized it instantly. It was the lady herself.
She must have seen me at the very same moment, for she halted dead
with the abruptness of one faced with a sudden danger, an opened
precipice, or a venomous snake under foot. She looked hurriedly to
right and left, as if seeking some loophole of escape.
At that moment one of the many electric trams that overspread Geneva
with a network of lines came swinging down the Rue de Mont Blanc from
the Cornavin station, and slackened speed at the end of the bridge. My
lady made up her mind then and there, and as it paused she boarded it
with one quick, agile spring.
With no less prompt decision I followed her, and we entered the car
almost simultaneously.
There were only two seats vacant and, curiously enough, face to face.
I took my place, not ill pleased, for she had already seen me, and I
was anxious to know how my sudden reappearance would affect her. It
was clear she did not relish it, or she would not have turned tail at
our unexpected meeting.
I had not long to wait. She chose her line at once, and without
hesitation addressed me, smiling and unabashed. Her self-possession, I
had almost said her effrontery, took me quite aback.
"Surely I am not mistaken?" she began quite coolly. "Have I not to
thank you for your courtesy in the train a couple of days ago?"
I stammered a halting affirmative.
"I am afraid you must have thought me very rude. I ran off without a
word, didn't I? The truth was my child had been suddenly taken ill and
the nurse had to leave the train hurriedly. She had only just time to
catch me and prevent me from going on. I am sorry. I should have liked
to say good-bye."
"Make no apologies, I beg," I hastened to say courteously. But in my
heart I trembled. What could this mean? Some fresh trick? She was so
desperately full of guile!
"But I thought you were bound for the other end of the lake," she
continued. "Do you make a long stay at Geneva?"
"No. Do you?" I retorted.
"Probably. I begin to like the place, and I have found very
comfortable quarters at the Hôtel Cornavin, near the station. You may
know it."
Could this be really so? Her perfect frankness amazed me. I could not
credit it, much less understand it. There was surely some pitfall,
some trap concealed for my abounding credulity.
"I also propose to stay some days, but am not yet established." I made
so bold as to suggest that I had a great mind to try her Hôtel
Cornavin.
"Why not?" she replied heartily. "The accommodation is good, nice
rooms, civil people, decent _cuisine_. It might suit you."
She could not possibly have been more civil and gracious. Too civil by
half, a more cautious man might have told himself.
The tram-car by this time had run through the Place Molard, the
Allemand Marché, and was turning into the Rue de la Corraterie,
pointing upward for the theatre and the Promenade des Bastions. Where
was my involuntary companion bound?
She settled the question by getting out at the Place Neuve with a few
parting words.
"I have a call to make near here. I had forgotten it. Perhaps I may
hope to see you again. Do try the Cornavin. If so, _sans adieu_."
Was it good enough? I could not allow her to slip through my fingers
like this. What if her whole story was untrue, what if there was no
Hôtel Cornavin, and no such guests there? I could not afford to let
her out of my sight, and with one spring I also left the car and,
catching a last glimpse of her retreating skirts, gave chase.
I cannot say whether she realized that I was following, but she led me
a pretty dance. In and out, and round and round, by narrow streets and
dark passages, backwards and forwards, as adroitly as any practised
thief eluding the hot pursuit of the police. At last she paused and
looked back, and thinking she had shaken me off (for knowing the game
well I had hastily effaced myself in a doorway) plunged into the
entrance of a small unpretending hotel in a quiet, retired square--the
Hôtel Pierre Fatio, certainly not the Cornavin.
The door in which I had taken shelter was that of a dark third-rate
café well suited to my purpose, and well placed, for I was in full
view of the Hôtel Pierre Fatio, which I was resolved to watch at least
until my lady came out again. As I slowly absorbed an absinthe,
revolving events past and to come, I thought it would be well to draw
Falloon to me. It was past the hour for our meeting.
I scribbled three lines of a note and despatched it to the Café de la
Couronne by a messenger to whom I fully described my colleague's
appearance, desiring him to show the addressed envelope before
delivery, but having no doubt that it would reach its destination.
Presently Falloon joined me, and as my lady had as yet made no sign, I
bade him continue the watch, while I left the café openly and
ostentatiously, so that it might be seen by any one curious to know
that I had given up the game.
Far from it. I designed only to try the Hôtel Cornavin to ascertain
the real facts; and if, as I shrewdly suspected, I had been fooled,
to return forthwith and rejoin Falloon at the true point of interest,
taking such further steps as might seem desirable. I was chiefly
anxious to regain touch and combine forces with Falfani.
There was no mistake, however, at the Cornavin Hôtel. I had not been
fooled. I was told directly I asked at the bureau that a Mrs. Blair,
accompanied by her maid and child, was staying in the house. Could I
see her? If monsieur would send up his card, it should be given her on
her return. She was not at home for the moment. (I knew that.) Would
monsieur call again?
I was slow to congratulate myself on what seemed a point gained, for I
had still my misgivings, but I would make the most of the chances that
offered to my hand. I secured a room at the Cornavin Hôtel, and
bespoke another for Falfani, whom I should now summon at once. With
this idea I took the earliest opportunity of telegraphing to him as
follows:
"Detained by unfortunate _contretemps_ at Lausanne, happily
surmounted, clue lost and regained. Desire your
coöperation. Come instantly, Hôtel Cornavin. She is here.
"LUDOVIC."
I noted the time of despatch, 4.17 P.M. It would surely reach
Falfani before the last train left Brieg coming my way, and I hardly
trusted myself to anticipate the comfort and relief his appearance
would bring me. Combined we could tie ourselves to our quarry, and
never let her out of sight until our principals could take over and
settle the business.
Then hailing a cab, I drove to a point close by where I had left
Falloon, and found the situation entirely unchanged. No one had come
out of the Hôtel Pierre Fatio. Mrs. Blair was paying a very long call,
and I could not understand it. All the time I was haunted with a vague
and ever present idea that she meant to sell me. The more I tortured
my brain to consider how, the less I was able to fathom her
intentions.
The time ran on, and I thought it would be prudent to return to my own
hotel. Mrs. Blair might have given us the slip, might have left by
some other issue, and I felt that my place was at the Cornavin, where
at least I knew she was staying. Falloon should stand his ground
where he was, but I fully impressed upon him the importance of the
duty entrusted to him.
I blessed my stars that I so decided. Mrs. Blair had not returned when
the _table d'hôte_ bell rang at the Cornavin, but I had hardly
swallowed the first spoonful of soup when Falloon appeared, hot and
flurried, with very startling news.
"_Elle se sauve._ She is saving herself; she is running away," he
cried. "Already her carriage enters the station--without doubt she
seeks the train for somewhere."
I jumped up, rushed from the room, caught up my hat, and hurried
across the Square of Place Cornavin into the station. It was a clear
case of bolt. There she was ahead of me, quite unmistakable, walking
quickly, with her fine upright figure clad in the same pearl gray
ulster she had worn in the tram-car. She passed through the open doors
of the waiting-room on to the platform where the train was waiting
with engine attached.
"The 7.35 for Culoz and beyond by Amberieu to Paris," I was informed
on inquiry.
"A double back," I concluded on the spot. She had had enough of it,
and was going home again. In another minute or two she would have
eluded me once more.
My only chance now lay in prompt action. I, too, must travel by this
train. To secure a ticket and board it was soon done. I chose a
carriage at no great distance from that she had entered; a through
carriage to Maçon, and which I was resolved to watch closely, but yet
I did not mean to show myself to its occupants if it could be helped.
As we were on the point of starting, I scribbled a few lines on a leaf
torn from my pocket-book to inform Falfani of my hasty departure and
the reason for it. This I folded carefully and addressed to him,
entrusting it to Falloon, who was to seek out my colleague at the
Hôtel Cornavin after the arrival of the late train from Brieg, and
deliver it. At the same time I handed Falloon a substantial fee, but
desired him to offer his services to Falfani.
I saw no more of the lady. She did not show at Bellegarde when the
French Customs' examination took place, nor yet at Culoz, and I
believed she was now committed to the journey northward. But as I was
dozing in my place and the train slowed on entering Amberieu, the
guard whom I had suborned came to me with a hurried call.
"Monsieur, monsieur, you must be quick. Madame has descended and is
just leaving the station. No doubt for the Hôtel de France, just
opposite."
There she was indeed with all her belongings. (How well I knew them by
this time!) The maid with her child in arms, the porter with the light
baggage.
I quickened my pace and entered the hotel almost simultaneously with
her. Ranging up alongside I said, not without exultation:
"Geneva was not so much to your taste, then? You have left rather
abruptly."
"To whom are you speaking, sir?" she replied in a stiff, strange
voice, assumed, I felt sure, for the occasion. She was so closely
veiled that I could not see her face, but it was the same figure, the
same costume, the same air. Lady Blackadder that was, Mrs. Blair as
she now chose to call herself, I could have sworn to her among a
thousand.
"It won't do, madame," I insisted. "I'm not to be put off. I know all
about it, and I've got you tight, and I'm not going to leave go again.
No fear." I meant to spend the night on guard, watching and waiting
till I was relieved by the arrival of the others, to whom I
telegraphed without delay.