about three o'clock in
the morning
And surely he had fulfilled his promise ! The long white road , winding like a ribbon through the dark olives , with the white villas of Cannes , the moonlit bay La Croisette , and the islands calm in the glorious night , lay before us . And beside me , interested and trustful , sat the pretty Pierrette -- the victim . My sweet-faced little charge had returned into the back of the car , and was sound asleep nestling beneath her rugs when , about three o'clock in the morning , we dashed through the little village of Cagnes , and ran out upon the long bridge that crosses the broad , rock-strewn river Var , a mile or two from Nice . My great search-light was shining far ahead , and the echoes of the silent , glorious night were awakened by the roar of the exhaust as we tore along , raising a perfect wall of dust behind us . Suddenly , on reaching the opposite bank , I saw a man in the shadow waving his arms , and heard a shout . My first impression was that it was one of the gendarmes , who are always on duty at that spot , but next instant , owing to the bend of the road , my search-light fell full upon the person in question , and I was amazed to find it to be none other than the audacious Bindo himself -- Bindo in a light dust-coat and a soft white felt hat of that type which is _ de rigueur _ each season at Monty among smartly-groomed men .