Hailing a passing fiacre, he shouted to the cocher to stop, and opening the door he jumped in. "Where shall I drive to?" asked the coachman. "Drive straight on, and I will give you an address later on. Mais vite, vite!" he shouted, as looking through the small window at the back of the coach he caught sight of Riche running after him some distance behind. "See, here is ten francs, and you shall have ten more if you will drive quickly." The cocher, delighted at the idea of so large a pourboire, lashed his horse into a gallop, and the cab rapidly out-distancing Riche, soon left him far behind and disappeared in the distance. "Gee! that was a narrow shave, but no one recognised me, thank goodness. Another second and Riche must have seen me, but I was just too quick for him. I hope I have got that syringe about me." He felt in all his pockets, but could not find it anywhere. "Oh! damn," he exclaimed, "that's awkward. I surely can't have left it in old Delapine's room. Yes, I must have dropped it when that fellow, whoever he was, came to the door. The worst of it is that someone is sure to find it. Well, never mind, it's got no needle in it, so they cannot see how it was used. Besides they might think it belonged to Riche or Villebois. Confound it. All this trouble comes through my helping the professor to see what the other world is like. On second thoughts I will call to-morrow and apologise for my having been obliged to run away to my chambers, and then I can find out how the land lies. I'll back my wits against theirs any day." "Where shall I drive to now?" said the cocher, looking through the window. "Oh! drive to the Café Américain. No, on second thoughts I prefer Maxim's." The coachman turned his horse round and speedily found his way into the Rue Royale, where he drove to the place indicated. "This is better," said Pierre to himself. "Jolly good thing I had the sense not to tell him to drive to my diggings, as they might have found out the cocher's number, and got to know where he drove me." Pierre paid the cocher, and pushed his way through the great wheeling door with its plate glass leaves into the well-known café. The musicians had just recommenced playing, and taking a seat he looked around him, scowling, and feeling as angry and miserable as he could be. A double stream of men and women kept constantly passing in and out through the revolving doors which reminded one of a Nile-steamer's paddle-wheel on end. A faint sickly smell of cigarette smoke mingled with violet powder and patchouli and the vinous breath of a hundred human beings filled the air. The whole room was a babel of voices. At one end of the room were a group of men and elegantly dressed ladies drinking their café noir or sipping iced drinks through straws. An American with his companion--obviously a young Englishman--entered at this moment.