Dauvray's livery." Harry Wethermill groaned aloud.
"We have lost him.

He was within our grasp--he, the murderer!--and he was allowed to go!" Perrichet's grief was pitiable.
"Monsieur," he pleaded, "a car slackens its speed and goes on again--it is not so unusual a thing.

I did not know the number of Mme.

Dauvray's car.

I did not even know that it had disappeared"; and suddenly tears of mortification filled his eyes.