Slowly he read the strange letter through: "Monsieur Polperro (so ran the missive in French)-- "I am leaving Lacville this evening in order to join my friend Madame Wolsky. I request you therefore to send on my luggage to the cloak room at the Gare du Nord. I enclose a hundred-franc note to pay you what I owe. Please distribute the rest of the money among the servants. I beg to inform you that I have been exceedingly comfortable at the Villa du Lac, and I will recommend your hotel to all my friends. "Yours very cordially, "Sylvea Baylee." Turning on his heel, and without even throwing a word of apology to the astonished, and by now indignant, M. Polperro, Chester rushed out of the hall and down the stone steps, below which stood the victoria. "Well?" cried out Paul de Virieu. "Come into the house--now, at once!" cried Chester, roughly. "Something extraordinary has happened!"-- The Count jumped out of the carriage, and a moment later the two men stood together in the hall, careless of the fact that M. Polperro was staring at them with affrighted eyes. "This letter purports to be from Sylvia Bailey," exclaimed Chester hoarsely, "but of course it is nothing of the sort! She never wrote a line of it. It's entirely unlike her handwriting--and then look at the absurd signature! What does it mean, Virieu? Can you give me any clue to what it means?" The Comte de Virieu raised his head from over the thin sheet of notepaper, and even Chester, frightened and angry as he now was, could not help noticing how the other man's face had changed in the last few moments. From being of a usual healthy sunburn, it had turned so white as to look almost green under the bright electric light. "Yes, I think I know what it means," said Count Paul between his teeth. "A letter like this purported to come from Madame Wolsky when she disappeared. But do not let us make a scene here. Let us go at once where I believe she is, for if what I fear is true every moment is of value." He plucked the Englishman by the sleeve, and hurried him out into the grateful darkness. "Get into the carriage," he said, imperiously. "I will see to everything." Chester heard him direct the driver to the police-station. "We may need two or three gendarmes," muttered Count Paul. "It's worth the three minutes delay." The carriage drew up before a shabby little house across which was painted in large black letters the word "Gendarmerie." The Count rushed into the guard-room, hurriedly explained his errand to the superintendent, and came out, but a moment later, with three men. "We must make room for these good fellows somehow," he said briefly, and room was made. Chester noticed with surprise that each man was armed, not only with a stave, but with a revolver. The French police do not stand on ceremony even with potential criminals. "And now," said the Count to the coachman, "five louis, my friend, if you can get us to the Chalet des Muguets in seven minutes--"