He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he sought,--her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and he went about the affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran his head into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule.
"Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?" Courtlandt asked of the man lounging in the forward seat.
The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The limousine was well known in Paris, and he was growing weary of these endless inquiries.
"Are you in her employ directly, or do you come from the garage?"
"I am from the garage, but I drive mademoiselle's car most of the time, especially at night. It is not madame but mademoiselle, Monsieur."
"My mistake." A slight pause. It was rather a difficult moment for Courtlandt. The chauffeur waited wonderingly. "Would you like to make five hundred francs?"
Courtlandt should have been warned by the tone, which contained no unusual interest or eagerness.
"Permit me to remain in mademoiselle's car till she comes. I wish to ride with her to her apartment."
The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his legs. "Thanks, Monsieur. It is very dull waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke."
And to Courtlandt's dismay he realized that his proposal had truly been accepted as a jest.
"I am not joking. I am in earnest. Five hundred francs. On the word of a gentleman I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am known to her. All she has to do is to appeal to you, and you can stop the car and summon the police."
The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned toward his tempter. "Monsieur, if you are not jesting, then you are a madman. Who are you? What do I know about you? I never saw you before, and for two seasons I have driven mademoiselle in Paris. She wears beautiful jewels to-night. How do I know that you are not a gentlemanly thief? Ride home with mademoiselle! You are crazy. Make yourself scarce, Monsieur; in one minute I shall call the police."