Though he was dissatisfied with the interview, he could only continue his program. He recognized that the secret might be located in Canada or the States, and that Dangle might have booked on the C.P.R. liner. Or he might have gone to Norway—indeed, for the matter of that, he might have signed on on any of the ships for any part of the world. But after a tedious morning of calls and interviews, French had to confess defeat. He could get no farther. At none of the offices at which he applied had he obtained the slightest helpful hint. It began to look as if he had been mistaken as to Dangle’s sea expedition, and if so, as he reminded himself with exasperation, he had no alternative theory to follow up. He strolled slowly along the pleasant, sunlit streets, as he reviewed his morning’s work. He was satisfied with all his interviews but the one. Everywhere save in M. Lowenthal’s office he felt he had been told the truth. But instinctively he distrusted the junior partner. That the man had lied to him he had no reason to suspect, but he had no doubt that he would do so if it suited his book. French felt that it was unsatisfactory to leave the matter in this state, and he presently thought of a simple subterfuge whereby it might be cleared up. It was almost the lunch hour, a suitable time for putting his project into operation. He hurried back to the Rue des Tanneurs, and turning into a café nearly opposite Messrs. Merkel & Lowenthal’s premises, ordered a bock and selected a seat from which he could observe the office door. He was only just in time. He had not taken his place five minutes when he saw M. Lowenthal emerge and walk off towards the center of the town. Three men clerks and the two rapid-looking typists followed, and lastly there appeared the person for whom he was waiting—the sharp-looking office boy who had attended to him earlier in the day. The boy turned off in the opposite direction to his principal—towards a quarter inhabited by laborers and artisans, and French, getting up from his table, slipped quietly out of the café and followed him. The chase continued for some ten minutes, when the quarry disappeared into a small house in a back street. French strolled up and down until some half an hour later the young fellow reappeared. As he approached French allowed a look of recognition and slight surprise to appear on his features. “Ah,” he said, pausing with a friendly smile, “you are the clerk who attended to me this morning in Messrs. Merkel & Lowenthal’s office, are you not? A piece of luck meeting you! I wonder if you could give me a piece of information? I forgot to ask it of M. Lowenthal this morning, and as I am in a hurry, it would be worth five francs to me not to have to go back to your office.” The youth’s eyes had brightened at the suggestion of financial dealings, and French felt he would learn all the other could tell him. He therefore continued without waiting for a reply.