"My friend," Andrea said, "I was riding from Mortefontaine to Senlis when my troublesome horse stumbled and threw me. I need to reach Compiègne tonight or my family will worry terribly. Could I rent a horse from you?"
Innkeepers always have horses available, good or bad. The host called the stable boy and ordered him to saddle "Whitey." Then he woke his seven-year-old son and told him to ride ahead of the gentleman and bring the horse back.
Andrea gave the innkeeper twenty francs. As he pulled them from his pocket, a visiting card fell out, one belonging to a friend from a fashionable café. The innkeeper picked it up after Andrea left, reading the name and address printed on it. He was convinced he'd rented his horse to the Count of Mauléon from 25 Rue Saint-Dominique.
"Whitey" wasn't fast, but he maintained a steady pace. Three and a half hours later, Andrea had covered the nine leagues to Compiègne. Four o'clock struck as he reached the coaching stop.
