“We naturally thought, Monsieur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case,” said the Magistrate severely.
“Even if the progress is nonexistent.”
“We also wished to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask away.”
“You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train.”
“I’ve answered that already. I did not.”
“You had, no doubt, your reasons.”
Derek stared at him suspiciously.
“I—did—not—know—she—was—on—the—train,” he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to someone dull of intellect.
“That is what you say, yes,” murmured M. Carrège.
A quick frown suffused Derek’s face.
“I should like to know what you are driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrège?”
“What do you think, Monsieur?”
“I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. It’s outrageous that such a thing could happen on a train de luxe like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter.”
“We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear.”