Part 19 (2/2)

”My means of a device with which Mr. Stapleton's car was equipped, the body of the one into which he threw the money was spattered with red paint. I could have identified it anywhere.”

”My dear Duvall! I feel that I should beg your pardon. Your plan was cleverness itself, and I will admit that, had I not interfered, you would in all probability have captured these men. I did not know what you had done, of course. Yet in their escape I have one consolation. It would have been extremely distasteful to me, to have had Mr. Stapleton boast that a private detective in his employ had succeeded, where the police of Paris had failed.”

”Then it would appear, Monsieur,” said Duvall somewhat stiffly, ”that we are, in this matter at least, in opposition.”

”Let us rather say, my friend, in compet.i.tion.” He placed his hand on Duvall's shoulder. ”You must not blame me, if I feel a pride in my office. When you were working for the city of Paris, you, too, felt that pride. I am truly sorry that I have not the benefit of your services now. However, I think you will admit, _mon ami_, that the young woman who is handing this case is no mean adversary.” The Prefect regarded the detective with a quizzical smile, behind which his eyes twinkled merrily.

”Who is this woman?” asked Duvall, quickly.

”Her name is--Goncourt--Estelle Goncourt.”

”A Frenchwoman?”

”Partly. I believe her mother was English.” The twinkle in his eye spread--he smiled upon the detective with expansive good humor. ”Why do you ask?”

”You will think it strange, perhaps, Monsieur Lefevre, but when I first saw Miss Goncourt, she reminded me strongly of my wife.”

”Of Grace?”

”Yes. Have you not observed it?”

”Now that you speak of it, perhaps there is something similar in the manner--the carriage. But your wife, my dear Duvall, is a blonde, while Mademoiselle Goncourt is decidedly a brunette.”

”Yes. Of course. But, nevertheless, the resemblance is striking.” He rose to go. ”I hope, Monsieur, that this kidnapped boy may be restored to his father very soon. I am anxious to return to America.”

”What! Leave Paris so quickly? My dear Duvall, I thought you Americans loved our city so well, that you never wanted to leave it.”

”Paris is all right, Monsieur; but,” he laughed heartily, ”I must get back to my wife and my farm. I was forced to leave in the very middle of my spring plowing.”

The Prefect roared. ”You--a farmer! Mon Dieu! How droll! Potatoes, I suppose, and chickens, and dogs, and pigs--”

”Exactly--and, believe me, Monsieur, they are more to my liking, than all the gaieties of Paris. Some day you must make us a visit, and see for yourself.” He turned toward the door.

”I shall, Duvall, I shall. But first we have to find this boy. What do you propose to do next?”

Duvall smiled. ”What do you?” he retorted.

”A bottle of champagne, my friend, and a dinner at the Cafe Royale, that we find the child before you do!”

”Done! Now I'll be off. Good night.”

The Prefect was still laughing when Grace peeped in from the private office, to find that Richard had gone. ”I think it's a shame to treat him so,” she said. ”The poor fellow! And he _would_ have gotten the kidnappers, if we hadn't interfered.”

Monsieur Lefevre picked up the package containing Mr. Stapleton's money and placed it carefully in his safe. ”Tomorrow you must return it to him,” he said. ”And then, I would suggest that you keep a close watch upon Mrs. Stapleton. My men have not been keeping her under surveillance. We have had no suspicions of her whatever. She may, if she is concerned in this matter, be imprudent enough to attempt to visit the child.”

”And if not?”

”Then watch Francois. If nothing comes of your efforts in either direction, I fear that we must wait for the kidnappers to make the next move. Of course there is Valentin--”

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