"Yes, yes, yes, an accomplice of Siméon's, whom Siméon, knowing that he would be followed to the Gare Saint-Lazare, instructs in this way to direct me to Mantes for the second time. At Mantes the comedy continues. The _Belle Hélène_ passes, with her double freight, Siméon and the bags of gold. We go running after the _Belle Hélène_. Of course, on the _Belle Hélène_ there's nothing: no Siméon, no bags of gold. 'Run after the _Chamois_. We've transhipped it all on the _Chamois_.' We run after the _Chamois_, to Rouen, to Le Hâvre, to the end of the world; and of course our pursuit is fruitless, for the _Chamois_ does not exist. But we are convinced that she does exist and that she has escaped our search. And by this time the trick is played. The millions are gone, Siméon has disappeared and there is only one thing left for us to do, which is to resign ourselves and abandon our quest. You understand, we're to abandon our quest: that's the fellow's object. And he would have succeeded if . . ." The car was traveling at full speed. From time to time Don Luis would stop her dead with extraordinary skill. Post of territorials. Pass to be produced. Then a leap onward and once more the breakneck pace. "If what?" asked Patrice, half-convinced. "Which was the clue that put you on the track?" "The presence of that woman at Mantes. It was a vague clue at first. But suddenly I remembered that, in the first barge, the _Nonchalante_, the person who gave us information--do you recollect?--well, that this person somehow gave me the queer impression, I can't tell you why, that I might be talking to a woman in disguise. The impression occurred to me once more. I made a mental comparison with the woman at Mantes. . . . And then . . . and then it was like a flash of light. . . ." Don Luis paused to think and, in a lower voice, continued: "But who the devil can this woman be?" There was a brief silence, after which Patrice said, from instinct rather than reason: "Grégoire, I suppose." "Eh? What's that? Grégoire?" "Yes. Yes, Grégoire is a woman." "What are you talking about?" "Well, obviously. Don't you remember? The accomplice told me so, on the day when I had them arrested outside the café." "Why, your diary doesn't say a word about it!" "Oh, that's true! . . . I forgot to put down that detail." "A detail! He calls it a detail! Why, it's of the greatest importance, captain! If I had known, I should have guessed that that bargee was no other than Grégoire and we should not have wasted a whole night. Hang it all, captain, you really are the limit!" But all this was unable to affect his good-humor. While Patrice, overcome with presentiments, grew gloomier and gloomier, Don Luis began to sing victory in his turn: