I was relieved when they all took seats in the eastward bound train,
going only as far as Aix-les-Bains, where, as I heard it stated by the
Culoz officials, the case was to be submitted to the Commissary of
Police. I felt sure that my gallant Colonel would hold his own, I felt
no very great concern for him. Although not fully satisfied as to
Henriette, I was so far satisfied by coming upon all the parties,
Ralph, Blackadder, and the rest, at Culoz, that she had disappeared
from the scene without interference.

I had now to decide upon my own movements. I debated with myself
whether I should not follow my sister to Fuentellato, to which I made
sure she had gone, and I had every reason to hope that I could
eventually join her there. But it seemed to be throwing away that same
chance of mystification which I had always kept in view, which might
have served me so well but for her weakness, and I still clung to my
hope of drawing them after me on the wrong scent.

At one time I thought of venturing boldly into their midst and
appearing openly at Aix; but this would probably end in abruptly
pricking the bubble, and nothing more was to be done. I thought of
sending Philpotts to hunt up the Colonel and convey a letter to him
detailing my situation, and was much taken with this idea, which I
presently rejected because I did not clearly see what good could come
of it. I was tortured with doubts, unable to decide for the best, and
at last, from sheer inability to choose, resolved to adhere to my
original plan of travelling south.

I would at least go to Marseilles, which I could reach that very
night, and once there would be guided by circumstances, seeking only
to control them to the extent of reporting my whereabouts to Henriette
at Fuentellato, and to the Colonel via London as arranged.

This as it proved was the very wisest course I could have adopted, as
will presently appear.

I was doomed to a long wait at Culoz. There was no train due westward
till 12.40, and I had to put in nearly three solid hours, which I
spent in wandering into the village, where I found an unpretending
_auberge_ and a rather uneatable breakfast.

Everywhere I was met with wearisome delays. A slow train to Amberieu,
a still slower cross journey to Lyons, which I did not reach till
nearly 4 P.M., and learnt that another hour or more must
elapse before the departure of the next Marseilles express.

The journey seemed interminable, but just as I