"What's that?" asked Baume, gruffly. He was one of the detective
staff, and was only doing his duty according to his lights, and he
said so with such an injured air that the General was pacified,
laughed, and relapsed into silence without lighting his cigarette.

The time ran on, from minutes into nearly an hour, a very trying
wait for Sir Charles. There is always something irritating in
doing antechamber work, in kicking one's heels in the waiting-room
of any functionary or official, high or low, and the General found
it hard to possess himself in patience, when he thought he was
being thus ignominiously treated by a man like M. Floçon. All the
time, too, he was worrying himself about the Countess, wondering
first how she had fared; next, where she was just then; last of
all, and longest, whether it was possible for her to be mixed up
in anything compromising or criminal.

Suddenly an electric bell struck in the room. There was a table
telephone at Baume's elbow; he took up the handle, put the tube to
his mouth and ear, got his message answered, and then, rising,
said abruptly to Sir Charles:

"Come."

When the General was at last ushered into the presence of the
Chief of the Detective Police, he found to his satisfaction that
Colonel Papillon was also there, and at M. Floçon's side sat the
instructing judge, M. Beaumont le Hardi, who, after waiting
politely until the two Englishmen had exchanged greetings, was the
first to speak, and in apology.