To obtain the simplest information is not always as easy as might be supposed.  The suspicion of the Parisian tradesman is easily aroused; and, as his head is stuffed with stories of spies and robbers, as soon as he is questioned he becomes as dumb as an oyster.

But M. de Tregars had foreseen the difficulty: 

“I beg you to believe, madame,” he went on, “that my questions are not dictated by an idle curiosity.  Here are the facts.  A relative of ours, a man of a certain age, of whom we are very fond, and whose head is a little weak, left his home some forty-eight hours since.  We are looking for him, and we are in hopes, if we find these trunks, to find him at the same time.”

With furtive glances, the husband and wife were tacitly consulting each other.

“The fact is,” they said, “we wouldn’t like, under any consideration, to commit an indiscretion which might result to the prejudice of a customer.”

“Fear nothing,” said M. de Tregars with a reassuring gesture.  “If we have not had recourse to the police, it’s because, you know, it isn’t pleasant to have the police interfere in one’s affairs.  If you have any objections to answer me, however, I must, of course, apply to the commissary.”

The argument proved decisive.

“If that’s the case,” replied the woman, “I am ready to tell all I know.”

“Well, then, madame, what do you know?”

“These two trunks were bought on Friday afternoon last, by a man of a certain age, tall, very thin, with a stern countenance, and wearing a long frock coat.”

“No more doubt,” murmured Maxence.  “It was he.”

“And now,” the woman went on, “that you have just told me that your relative was a little weak in the head, I remember that this gentleman had a strange sort of way about him, and that he kept walking about the store as if he had fleas on his legs.  And awful particular he was too!  Nothing was handsome enough and strong enough for him; and he was anxious about the safety-locks, as he had, he said, many objects of value, papers, and securities, to put away.”

“And where did he tell you to send the two trunks?”

“Rue du Cirque, to Mme.—­wait a minute, I have the name at the end of my tongue.”

“You must have it on your books, too,” remarked M. de Tregars.

The husband was already looking over his blotter.

“April 26, 1872,” he said. “26, here it is:  ’Two leather trunks, patent safety-locks:  Mme. Zelie Cadelle, 49 Rue du Cirque.’”

Without too much affectation, M. de Tregars had drawn near to the shopkeeper, and was looking over his shoulder.

“What is that,” he asked, “written there, below the address?”

“That, sir, is the direction left by the customer ’Mark on each end of the trunks, in large letters, “Rio de Janeiro."’”

Maxence could not suppress an exclamation.  “Oh!”