"Yes," said Sylvia, slowly. "I know that is quite possible. And yet--and yet it is so very unlike Anna not to send me a word of explanation! And then, you know in that letter she left in her room at the Pension Malfait she positively promised to send a telegram about her luggage. Surely it is very strange that she has not done that?" "Well, if you really wish the police communicated with," said the Comte de Virieu, "I will go to the police-station here, with pleasure." "Why should we not go together?" asked Sylvia, hesitatingly. "By all means. But think over what we are to say when we get there. If your friend had not left the letter behind her, then, of course it would be our positive duty to communicate with the police. But I cannot help being afraid--" He stopped abruptly. "Of what are you afraid?" asked Sylvia eagerly. "I am afraid that Madame Wolsky may be very much offended by your interference in the matter." "Oh, no!" cried Sylvia. "Indeed, in that you are quite mistaken! I know Anna would never be offended by anything I could do. She was very fond of me, and so am I of her. But in any case I am willing to risk it. You see"--her voice broke, quivered--"I am really very unhappy about Anna--" "When would you like to go to the Commissioner of Police?" asked the Count. "Is there any reason why we should not go now?" "No. Let us go at once. I only had the feeling that you might hear from her any moment." Together they walked up into the little town of Lacville. To each any expedition in which the other took part had become delightful. They were together now more than they had ever been before. No, Count Paul could not be sorry that Sylvia's friend had left Lacville. He had no wish for her return. At last they came to a rather mean-looking white house; out of one of the windows hung a tricolour flag. "Here we are!" he said briefly. "It doesn't look a very imposing place," said Sylvia smiling. But all the same, as the Count rang the bell Sylvia suddenly felt as if she would like to run away! After all, what should she say to the Commissioner of Police? Would he think her interference in Anna's affairs strange and uncalled for? But she kept her thoughts to herself. 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.