The Aluminium Flask

"I have telephoned to Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete at Geneva,"
said Hanaud, as the car sped out of Aix along the road to Annecy.
"He will have the house watched. We shall be in time. They will do
nothing until dark."

But though he spoke confidently there was a note of anxiety in his
voice, and he sat forward in the car, as though he were already
straining his eyes to see Geneva.

Ricardo was a trifle disappointed. They were on the great journey
to Geneva. They were going to arrest Mlle. Celie and her
accomplices. And Hanaud had not come disguised. Hanaud, in
Ricardo's eyes, was hardly living up to the dramatic expedition on
which they had set out. It seemed to him that there was something
incorrect in the great detective coming out on the chase without a
false beard.

"But, my dear friend, why shouldn't I?" pleaded Hanaud. "We are
going to dine together at the Restaurant du Nord, over the lake,
until it grows dark. It is not pleasant to eat one's soup in a
false beard. Have you tried it? Besides, everybody stares so,
seeing perfectly well that it is false. Now, I do not want tonight
that people should know me for a detective; so I do not go
disguised."

"Humorist!" said Mr. Ricardo.

"There! you have found me out!" cried Hanaud, in mock alarm.
"Besides, I told you this morning that that is precisely what I
am."

Beyond Annecy, they came to the bridge over the ravine. At the far
end of it, the car stopped. A question, a hurried glance into the
body of the car, and the officers of the Customs stood aside.