It was on the afternoon of the same day that Pointer set out for Nice. He 'phoned to Christine from Marseilles, where the train had a wait. The puzzle had yielded to the key. He knew now the truth about Robert Erskine's murder, but he wanted her help with regard to his letters to his mother. The Chief Inspector was told that mademoiselle was out, but would be back in the afternoon. A 'phone to the Negresco informed him that Crane was away too. He wondered if he had struck the weekly meeting day of the young couple, and left a message for Christine to expect a 'phone from Nice at the hour when his train arrived. A few words over the instrument would tell him all that he wanted to know. To “Colonel Hunter” he wired instructions to meet Mr. Deane at the station. Watts met him, but it seemed that Miss West had not yet returned to her _pension_. Not only that, but she had 'phoned about an hour ago to say that she was spending the night in Nice with friends, and would possibly be away a day or two. “Yes, mademoiselle had sent the 'phone herself.” “The devil!” murmured Pointer thoughtfully; “that can only mean she's at the villa! The very devil! Where's Carter?” he asked aloud of Watts, who as yet had heard nothing concerning the other's journey. “He is to dine with the Anstruthers to-night. When I left he was playing tennis with one of the Chapman boys.” “Humph!” grunted Pointer, “we'll try to get him.” Carter's voice answered him at once. “Hello! That you, Deane? At last! Anything turned up? What? Where's Miss West? In Cannes. She was going back by the three-fifteen. Am I sure? No, I can't be sure, as she never lets me see her off. Orders, you know. But when I left her at half-past two that was her intention. Is anything the matter?” “Not that I know of, but keep near the 'phone for a few minutes, will you?” “You bet!” Pointer heard before he disconnected. He promptly rang up Mrs. Erskine. That lady, too, was out, Marie's voice informed him. Had Miss West been there during the afternoon? Yes, she had had tea with madame, and had left a little before six o'clock. No, she had not returned. Again the Chief Inspector looked thoughtfully at his boot-tips. Watts, who knew his little ways, wondered what was worrying him. In another second Pointer was speaking to Carter again and asking him to come around to his hotel at once in the big car he hired regularly. “For God's sake, tell me is there anything wrong with Christine,” urged the Canadian; but the Chief Inspector hung up the receiver. He next tried to get into touch with the Préfecture, but the line was occupied, and before he got through Carter's car was at the door and that young man was in the room. “Look here, you can't keep silence like this. What's wrong? Why did you ask about Christine?” “I'd like to know where she is,” was all Pointer would reply. “She's not at her _pension_; I want to find out just where she is. Drive to the villa.”