They were shown into a room where a tired-looking man bent over a large,
ink-stained table littered over with papers.
"Monsieur? Madame?" he glanced up inquiringly, and gave them a searching
look. But he did not rise from the table, as Sylvia expected him to
do. "What can I do for you?" he said. "I am at your service," and again
he stared with insistent curiosity at the couple before him, at the
well-dressed young Englishwoman and at her French companion.
The Count explained at some length why they had come.
And then at last the Commissioner of Police got up.
"Madame has now been at Lacville three weeks?"--and he quickly made a
note of the fact on a little tablet he held in his hand. "And her friend,
a Polish lady named Wolsky, has left Lacville rather suddenly? Madame
has, however, received a letter from her friend explaining that she had
to leave unexpectedly?"
"No," said Sylvia, quickly, "the letter was not sent to me; it was left
by my friend in her bed-room at the Pension Malfait. You see, the strange
thing, Monsieur, is that Madame Wolsky left all her luggage.
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