Part 45

But after all what was the use of all these conjectures? There was but one certain and positive thing, and this was that the money he had counted upon had escaped him; and he experienced as acute a pang as if he had lost forty thousand francs a second time. Perhaps, at that moment, he was sorry that he had severed his connection with the marquis. Still, he was not the man to despond, however desperate his plight might appear, without an attempt to better his situation. He knew how many surprising and sudden changes in fortune have been brought about by some apparently trivial action. “I must discover this sister,” he said to himself--“I must ascertain her position and her plans. If she has no one to advise her, I will offer my services; and who knows----”

A cab was passing; M. Fortunat hailed it, and ordered the Jehu to drive him to the Rue du Helder, No. 43, Hotel de Homburg.

Was it by chance or premeditation that this establishment had received the name of one of the gambling dens of Europe? Perhaps the following information may serve to answer the question. The Hotel de Homburg was one of those flash hostelries frequented by adventurers of distinction, who are attracted to Paris by the millions that are annually squandered there. Spurious counts and questionable Russian princesses were sure to find a cordial welcome there with princely luxury, moderate prices, and--but very little confidence. Each person was called by the title which it pleased him to give on his arrival--Excellency or Prince, according to his fancy. He could also find numerous servants carefully drilled to play the part of old family retainers, and carriages upon which the most elaborate coat-of-arms could be painted at an hour’s notice. Nor was there any difficulty whatever in immediately procuring all the accessories of a life of grandeur--all that is needful to dazzle the unsuspecting, to throw dust in people’s eyes, and to dupe one’s chance acquaintances. All these things were provided without delay, by the month, by the day or by the hour, just as the applicant pleased. But there was no such thing as credit there. Bills were presented every evening, to those lodgers who did not pay in advance: and he who could not, or would not, settle the score, even if he were Excellency or Prince, was requested to depart at once, and his trunks were held as security.

When M. Fortunat entered the office of the hotel, a woman, with a crafty looking face, was holding a conference with an elderly gentleman, who had a black velvet skullcap on his head, and a magnifying glass in his hand. They applied their eyes to the glass in turn, and were engaged in examining some very handsome diamonds, which had no doubt been offered in lieu of money by some noble but impecunious foreigner. On hearing M. Fortunat enter, the woman looked up.

“What do you desire, monsieur?” she inquired, politely.

“I wish to see Madame Lucy Huntley.”

The woman did not reply at first, but raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if she were reading there the list of all the foreigners of distinction who honored the Hotel de Homburg by their presence at that moment. “Lucy Huntley!” she repeated. “I don’t recollect that name! I don’t think there’s such a person in the house--Lucy Huntley! What kind of a person is she?”

For many reasons M. Fortunat could not answer. First of all, he did not know. But he was not in the least disconcerted, and he avoided the question without the slightest embarrassment, at the same time trying to quicken the woman’s faulty memory. “The person I wished to see was here on Friday, between three and six in the afternoon; and she was waiting for a visitor with an anxiety which could not possibly have escaped your notice.”

This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifying glass--none other than the woman’s husband and landlord of the hotel. “Ah! the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2--you remember--the same who insisted upon having the large private room.”

“To be sure,” replied the wife; “where could my wits have been!” And turning to M. Fortunat: “Excuse my forgetfulness,” she added. “The lady is no longer in the house; she only remained here for a few hours.”

This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat--he had expected it; and yet he assumed an air of the utmost consternation. “Only a few hours!” he repeated, like a despairing echo.

“Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o’clock in the morning, with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left that same evening at eight o’clock.”

“Alas! and where was she going?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to burst into tears. “Poor Lucy!” said he, in a tragical tone; “it was for me, madame, that she was waiting. But it was only this morning that I received her letter appointing a meeting here. She must have been in despair. The post can’t be depended on!”

The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and the expression of their faces unmistakably implied: “What can we do about it? It is no business of ours. Don’t trouble us.”

But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle.

“She was taken to the railway station, no doubt,” he insisted.

“Really, I know nothing about it.”

“You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not have left your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who was sent to fetch it? One of your boys? If I could find the driver I should, perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him.”

The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a single glance. M. Isidore Fortunat’s appearance was incontestably respectable, but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives are perfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So the hotelkeeper quickly decided on his course. “Your idea is an excellent one,” he said to M. Fortunat. “This lady must certainly have taken a vehicle on leaving; and what is more, it must have been a vehicle belonging to the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make some inquiries on the subject.”

And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles were stationed, while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smoking their pipes “Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening at about eight o’clock?”

“What sort of a person was she?”

“She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years’ old, very fair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leather travelling-bag.”

“I took her,” answered one of the drivers promptly. M. Fortunat advanced toward the man with open arms, and with such eagerness that it might have been supposed he meant to embrace him. “Ah, my worthy fellow!” he exclaimed, “you can save my life!”

The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that this gentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificent gratuity. “What do you want of me?” he asked.

“Tell me where you drove this lady?”

“I took her to the Rue de Berry.”