AT THE VILLA ROSE

A. E. W. Mason

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. SUMMER LIGHTNING II. A CRY FOR HELP III. PERRICHET'S STORY IV. AT THE VILLA V. IN THE SALON VI. HELENE VAUQUIER'S EVIDENCE VII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY VIII. THE CAPTAIN OF THE SHIP IX. MME. DAUVRAY'S MOTOR-CAR X. NEWS FROM GENEVA XI. THE UNOPENED LETTER XII. THE ALUMINIUM FLASK XIII. IN THE HOUSE AT GENEVA XIV. MR. RICARDO IS BEWILDERED XV. CELIA'S STORY XVI. THE FIRST MOVE XVII. THE AFTERNOON OF TUESDAY XVIII. THE SEANCE XIX. HELENE EXPLAINS XX. THE GENEVA ROAD XXI. HANAUD EXPLAINS

AT THE VILLA ROSE

CHAPTER I

SUMMER LIGHTNING

It was Mr. Ricardo's habit as soon as the second week of August cameround to travel to Aix-les-Bains, in Savoy, where for five or six weekshe lived pleasantly. He pretended to take the waters in the morning, hewent for a ride in his motor-car in the afternoon, he dined at theCercle in the evening, and spent an hour or two afterwards in thebaccarat-rooms at the Villa des Fleurs. An enviable, smooth lifewithout a doubt, and it is certain that his acquaintances envied him. At the same time, however, they laughed at him and, alas with somejustice; for he was an exaggerated person. He was to be construed inthe comparative. Everything in his life was a trifle overdone, from thefastidious arrangement of his neckties to the feminine nicety of hislittle dinner-parties. In age Mr. Ricardo was approaching the fifties;in condition he was a widower--a state greatly to his liking, for heavoided at once the irksomeness of marriage and the reproaches justlylevelled at the bachelor; finally, he was rich, having amassed afortune in Mincing Lane, which he had invested in profitable securities. 

Ten years of ease, however, had not altogether obliterated in him thebusiness look. Though he lounged from January to December, he loungedwith the air of a financier taking a holiday; and when he visited, ashe frequently did, the studio of a painter, a stranger would havehesitated to decide whether he had been drawn thither by a love of artor by the possibility of an investment. His "acquaintances" have beenmentioned, and the word is suitable. For while he mingled in manycircles, he stood aloof from all. He affected the company of artists, by whom he was regarded as one ambitious to become a connoisseur; andamongst the younger business men, who had never dealt with him, heearned the disrespect reserved for the dilettante. If he had a grief, it was that he had discovered no great man who in return for practicalfavours would engrave his memory in brass. He was a Maecenas without aHorace, an Earl of Southampton without a Shakespeare. In a word, Aix-les-Bains in the season was the very place for him; and never for amoment did it occur to him that he was here to be dipped in agitations, and hurried from excitement to excitement. The beauty of the littletown, the crowd of well-dressed and agreeable people, the rose-colouredlife of the place, all made their appeal to him. But it was the Villades Fleurs which brought him to Aix. Not that he played for anythingmore than an occasional louis; nor, on the other hand, was he merely acold looker-on. He had a bank-note or two in his pocket on mostevenings at the service of the victims of the tables. But the pleasureto his curious and dilettante mind lay in the spectacle of the battlewhich was waged night after night between raw nature and good manners. It was extraordinary to him how constantly manners prevailed. Therewere, however, exceptions. 

For instance. On the first evening of this particular visit he foundthe rooms hot, and sauntered out into the little semicircular garden atthe back. He sat there for half an hour under a flawless sky of starswatching the people come and go in the light of the electric lamps, andappreciating the gowns and jewels of the women with the eye of aconnoisseur; and then into this starlit quiet there came suddenly aflash of vivid life. A girl in a soft, clinging frock of white satindarted swiftly from the rooms and flung herself nervously upon a bench. She could not, to Ricardo's thinking, be more than twenty years of age. She was certainly quite young. The supple slenderness of her figureproved it, and he had moreover caught a glimpse, as she rushed out, ofa fresh and very pretty face; but he had lost sight of it now. For thegirl wore a big black satin hat with a broad brim, from which a coupleof white ostrich feathers curved over at the back, and in the shadow ofthat hat her face was masked. All that he could see was a pair of longdiamond eardrops, which sparkled and trembled as she moved herhead--and that she did constantly. Now she stared moodily at theground; now she flung herself back; then she twisted nervously to theright, and then a moment afterwards to the left; and then again shestared in front of her, swinging a satin slipper backwards and forwardsagainst the pavement with the petulance of a child. All her movementswere spasmodic; she was on the verge of hysteria. Ricardo was expectingher to burst into tears, when she sprang up and as swiftly as she hadcome she hurried back into the rooms. "Summer lightning, " thought Mr. Ricardo. 

Near to him a woman sneered, and a man said, pityingly: "She waspretty, that little one. It is regrettable that she has lost. "

A few minutes afterwards Ricardo finished his cigar and strolled backinto the rooms, making his way to the big table just on the right handof the entrance, where the play as a rule runs high. It was clearlyrunning high tonight. For so deep a crowd thronged about the table thatRicardo could only by standing on tiptoe see the faces of the players. Of the banker he could not catch a glimpse. But though the crowdremained, its units were constantly changing, and it was not longbefore Ricardo found himself standing in the front rank of thespectators, just behind the players seated in the chairs. The ovalgreen table was spread out beneath him littered with bank-notes. Ricardo turned his eyes to the left, and saw seated at the middle ofthe table the man who was holding the bank. Ricardo recognised him witha start of surprise. He was a young Englishman, Harry Wethermill, who, after a brilliant career at Oxford and at Munich, had so turned hisscientific genius to account that he had made a fortune for himself atthe age of twenty-eight. 

He sat at the table with the indifferent look of the habitual playerupon his cleanly chiselled face. But it was plain that his good fortunestayed at his elbow tonight, for opposite to him the croupier wasarranging with extraordinary deftness piles of bank-notes in the orderof their value. The bank was winning heavily. Even as Ricardo lookedWethermill turned up "a natural, " and the croupier swept in the stakesfrom either side. 

"Faites vos jeux, messieurs. Le jeu est fait?" the croupier cried, allin a breath, and repeated the words. Wethermill waited with his handupon the wooden frame in which the cards were stacked. He glanced roundthe table while the stakes were being laid upon the cloth, and suddenlyhis face flashed from languor into interest. Almost opposite to him asmall, white-gloved hand holding a five-louis note was thrust forwardbetween the shoulders of two men seated at the table. Wethermill leanedforward and shook his head with a smile. With a gesture he refused thestake. But he was too late. The fingers of the hand had opened, thenote fluttered down on to the cloth, the money was staked. 

At once he leaned back in his chair. 

"Il y a une suite, " he said quietly. He relinquished the bank ratherthan play against that five-louis note. The stakes were taken up bytheir owners. 

The croupier began to count Wethermill's winnings, and Ricardo, curiousto know whose small, delicately gloved hand it was which had broughtthe game to so abrupt a termination, leaned forward. He recognised theyoung girl in the white satin dress and the big black hat whose nerveshad got the better of her a few minutes since in the garden. He saw hernow clearly, and thought her of an entrancing loveliness. She wasmoderately tall, fair of skin, with a fresh colouring upon her cheekswhich she owed to nothing but her youth. Her hair was of a light brownwith a sheen upon it, her forehead broad, her eyes dark and wonderfullyclear. But there was something more than her beauty to attract him. Hehad a strong belief that somewhere, some while ago, he had already seenher. And this belief grew and haunted him. He was still vaguelypuzzling his brains to fix the place when the croupier finished hisreckoning. 

"There are two thousand louis in the bank, " he cried. "Who will take onthe bank for two thousand louis?"

No one, however, was willing. A fresh bank was put up for sale, andWethermill, still sitting in the dealer's chair, bought it. He spoke atonce to an attendant, and the man slipped round the table, and, forcinghis way through the crowd, carried a message to the girl in the blackhat. She looked towards Wethermill and smiled; and the smile made herface a miracle of tenderness. Then she disappeared, and in a fewmoments Ricardo saw a way open in the throng behind the banker, and sheappeared again only a yard or two away, just behind Wethermill. Heturned, and taking her hand into his, shook it chidingly. 

"I couldn't let you play against me, Celia, " he said, in English; "myluck's too good tonight. So you shall be my partner instead. I'll putin the capital and we'll share the winnings. "

The girl's face flushed rosily. Her hand still lay clasped in his. Shemade no effort to withdraw it. 

"I couldn't do that, " she exclaimed. 

"Why not?" said he. "See!" and loosening her fingers he took from themthe five-louis note and tossed it over to the croupier to be added tohis bank. "Now you can't help yourself. We're partners. "

The girl laughed, and the company at the table smiled, half insympathy, half with amusement. A chair was brought for her, and she satdown behind Wethermill, her lips parted, her face joyous withexcitement. But all at once Wethermill's luck deserted him. He renewedhis bank three times, and had lost the greater part of his winningswhen he had dealt the cards through. He took a fourth bank, and rosefrom that, too, a loser. 

"That's enough, Celia, " he said. "Let us go out into the garden; itwill be cooler there. "

"I have taken your good luck away, " said the girl remorsefully. Wethermill put his arm through hers. 

"You'll have to take yourself away before you can do that, " heanswered, and the couple walked together out of Ricardo's hearing. 

Ricardo was left to wonder about Celia. She was just one of thoseproblems which made Aix-les-Bains so unfailingly attractive to him. Shedwelt in some street of Bohemia; so much was clear. The frankness ofher pleasure, of her excitement, and even of her distress proved it. She passed from one to the other while you could deal a pack of cards. She was at no pains to wear a mask. Moreover, she was a young girl ofnineteen or twenty, running about those rooms alone, as unembarrassedas if she had been at home. There was the free use, too, of Christiannames. Certainly she dwelt in Bohemia. But it seemed to Ricardo thatshe could pass in any company and yet not be overpassed. She would looka little more picturesque than most girls of her age, and she wascertainly a good deal more soignee than many, and she had theFrenchwoman's knack of putting on her clothes. But those would be allthe differences, leaving out the frankness. Ricardo wondered in whatstreet of Bohemia she dwelt. He wondered still more when he saw heragain half an hour afterwards at the entrance to the Villa des Fleurs. She came down the long hall with Harry Wethermill at her side. Thecouple were walking slowly, and talking as they walked with so completean absorption in each other that they were unaware of theirsurroundings. At the bottom of the steps a stout woman of fifty-fiveover-jewelled, and over-dressed and raddled with paint, watched theirapproach with a smile of good-humoured amusement. When they came nearenough to hear she said in French:

"Well, Celie, are you ready to go home?"

The girl looked up with a start. 

"Of course, madame, " she said, with a certain submissiveness whichsurprised Ricardo. "I hope I have not kept you waiting. "

She ran to the cloak-room, and came back again with her cloak. 

"Good-bye, Harry, " she said, dwelling upon his name and looking outupon him with soft and smiling eyes. 

"I shall see you tomorrow evening, " he said, holding her hand. Againshe let it stay within his keeping, but she frowned, and a suddengravity settled like a cloud upon her face. She turned to the elderwoman with a sort of appeal. 

"No, I do not think we shall be here, tomorrow, shall we, madame?" shesaid reluctantly. 

"Of course not, " said madame briskly. "You have not forgotten what wehave planned? No, we shall not be here tomorrow; but the nightafter--yes. "

Celia turned back again to Wethermill. 

"Yes, we have plans for tomorrow, " she said, with a very wistful noteof regret in her voice; and seeing that madame was already at the door, she bent forward and said timidly, "But the night after I shall wantyou. "

"I shall thank you for wanting me, " Wethermill rejoined; and the girltore her hand away and ran up the steps. 

Harry Wethermill returned to the rooms. Mr. Ricardo did not follow him. He was too busy with the little problem which had been presented to himthat night. What could that girl, he asked himself, have in common withthe raddled woman she addressed so respectfully? Indeed, there had beena note of more than respect in her voice. There had been something ofaffection. Again Mr. Ricardo found himself wondering in what street inBohemia Celia dwelt--and as he walked up to the hotel there came yetother questions to amuse him. 

"Why, " he asked, "could neither Celia nor madame come to the Villa desFleurs tomorrow night? What are the plans they have made? And what wasit in those plans which had brought the sudden gravity and reluctanceinto Celia's face?"

Ricardo had reason to remember those questions during the next fewdays, though he only idled with them now. 

CHAPTER II

A CRY FOR HELP

It was on a Monday evening that Ricardo saw Harry Wethermill and thegirl Celia together. On the Tuesday he saw Wethermill in the roomsalone and had some talk with him. 

Wethermill was not playing that night, and about ten o'clock the twomen left the Villa des Fleurs together. 

"Which way do you go?" asked Wethermill. 

"Up the hill to the Hotel Majestic, " said Ricardo. 

"We go together, then. I, too, am staying there, " said the young man, and they climbed the steep streets together. Ricardo was dying to putsome questions about Wethermill's young friend of the night before, butdiscretion kept him reluctantly silent. They chatted for a few momentsin the hall upon indifferent topics and so separated for the night. Mr. Ricardo, however, was to learn something more of Celia the nextmorning; for while he was fixing his tie before the mirror Wethermillburst into his dressing-room. Mr. Ricardo forgot his curiosity in thesurge of his indignation. Such an invasion was an unprecedented outrageupon the gentle tenor of his life. The business of the morning toilettewas sacred. To interrupt it carried a subtle suggestion of anarchy. Where was his valet? Where was Charles, who should have guarded thedoor like the custodian of a chapel?

"I cannot speak to you for at least another half-hour, " said Mr. Ricardo, sternly. 

But Harry Wethermill was out of breath and shaking with agitation. 

"I can't wait, " he cried, with a passionate appeal. "I have got to seeyou. You must help me, Mr. Ricardo--you must, indeed!"

Ricardo spun round upon his heel. At first he had thought that the helpwanted was the help usually wanted at Aix-les-Bains. A glance atWethermills face, however, and the ringing note of anguish in hisvoice, told him that the thought was wrong. Mr. Ricardo slipped out ofhis affectations as out of a loose coat. "What has happened?" he askedquietly. 

"Something terrible. " With shaking fingers Wethermill held out anewspaper. "Read it, " he said. 

It was a special edition of a local newspaper, Le Journal de Savoie, and it bore the date of that morning. 

"They are crying it in the streets, " said Wethermill. "Read!"

A short paragraph was printed in large black letters on the first page, and leaped to the eyes. 

"Late last night, " it ran, "an appalling murder was committed at theVilla Rose, on the road to Lac Bourget. Mme. Camille Dauvray, anelderly, rich woman who was well known at Aix, and had occupied thevilla every summer for the last few years, was discovered on the floorof her salon, fully dressed and brutally strangled, while upstairs, hermaid, Helene Vauquier, was found in bed, chloroformed, with her handstied securely behind her back. At the time of going to press she hadnot recovered consciousness, but the doctor, Emile Peytin, is inattendance upon her, and it is hoped that she will be able shortly tothrow some light on this dastardly affair. The police are properlyreticent as to the details of the crime, but the following statementmay be accepted without hesitation:

"The murder was discovered at twelve o'clock at night by thesergent-de-ville Perrichet, to whose intelligence more than a word ofpraise is due, and it is obvious from the absence of all marks upon thedoor and windows that the murderer was admitted from within the villa. Meanwhile Mme. Dauvray's motor-car has disappeared, and with it a youngEnglishwoman who came to Aix with her as her companion. The motive ofthe crime leaps to the eyes. Mme. Dauvray was famous in Aix for herjewels, which she wore with too little prudence. The condition of thehouse shows that a careful search was made for them, and they havedisappeared. It is anticipated that a description of the youngEnglishwoman, with a reward for her apprehension, will be issuedimmediately. And it is not too much to hope that the citizens of Aix, and indeed of Prance, will be cleared of all participation in so crueland sinister a crime. "

Ricardo read through the paragraph with a growing consternation, andlaid the paper upon his dressing-table. 

"It is infamous, " cried Wethermill passionately. 

"The young Englishwoman is, I suppose, your friend Miss Celia?" saidRicardo slowly. 

Wethermill started forward. 

"You know her, then?" he cried in amazement. 

"No; but I saw her with you in the rooms. I heard you call her by thatname. "

"You saw us together?" exclaimed Wethermill. "Then you can understandhow infamous the suggestion is. "

But Ricardo had seen the girl half an hour before he had seen her withHarry Wethermill. He could not but vividly remember the picture of heras she flung herself on to the bench in the garden in a moment ofhysteria, and petulantly kicked a satin slipper backwards and forwardsagainst the stones. She was young, she was pretty, she had a charm offreshness, but--but--strive against it as he would, this picture in therecollection began more and more to wear a sinister aspect. Heremembered some words spoken by a stranger. "She is pretty, that littleone. It is regrettable that she has lost. "

Mr. Ricardo arranged his tie with even a greater deliberation than heusually employed. 

"And Mme. Dauvray?" he asked. "She was the stout woman with whom youryoung friend went away?"

"Yes, " said Wethermill. 

Ricardo turned round from the mirror. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hanaud is at Aix. He is the cleverest of the French detectives. Youknow him. He dined with you once. "

It was Mr. Ricardo's practice to collect celebrities round hisdinner-table, and at one such gathering Hanaud and Wethermill had beenpresent together. 

"You wish me to approach him?"

"At once. "

"It is a delicate position, " said Ricardo. "Here is a man in charge ofa case of murder, and we are quietly to go to him--"

To his relief Wethermill interrupted him. 

"No, no, " he cried; "he is not in charge of the case. He is on hisholiday. I read of his arrival two days ago in the newspaper. It wasstated that he came for rest. What I want is that he should take chargeof the case. "

The superb confidence of Wethermill shook Mr. Ricardo for a moment, buthis recollections were too clear. 

"You are going out of your way to launch the acutest of Frenchdetectives in search of this girl. Are you wise, Wethermill?"

Wethermill sprang up from his chair in desperation. 

"You, too, think her guilty! You have seen her. You think herguilty--like this detestable newspaper, like the police. "

"Like the police?" asked Ricardo sharply. 

"Yes, " said Harry Wethermill sullenly. "As soon as I saw that rag I randown to the villa. The police are in possession. They would not let meinto the garden. But I talked with one of them. They, too, think thatshe let in the murderers. "

Ricardo took a turn across the room. Then he came to a stop in front ofWethermill. 

"Listen to me, " he said solemnly. "I saw this girl half an hour beforeI saw you. She rushed out into the garden. She flung herself on to abench. She could not sit still. She was hysterical. You know what thatmeans. She had been losing. That's point number one. "

Mr. Ricardo ticked it off upon his finger. 

"She ran back into the rooms. You asked her to share the winnings ofyour bank. She consented eagerly. And you lost. That's point numbertwo. A little later, as she was going away, you asked her whether shewould be in the rooms the next night--yesterday night--the night whenthe murder was committed. Her face clouded over. She hesitated. Shebecame more than grave. There was a distinct impression as though sheshrank from the contemplation of what it was proposed she should do onthe next night. And then she answered you, 'No, we have other plans. 'That's number three. " And Mr. Ricardo ticked off his third point. 

"Now, " he asked, "do you still ask me to launch Hanaud upon the case?"

"Yes, and at once, " cried Wethermill. 

Ricardo called for his hat and his stick. 

"You know where Hanaud is staying?" he asked. 

"Yes, " replied Wethermill, and he led Ricardo to an unpretentiouslittle hotel in the centre of the town. Ricardo sent in his name, andthe two visitors were immediately shown into a small sitting-room, where M. Hanaud was enjoying his morning chocolate. He was stout andbroad-shouldered, with a full and almost heavy face. In his morningsuit at his breakfast-table he looked like a prosperous comedian. 

He came forward with a smile of welcome, extending both his hands toMr. Ricardo. 

"Ah, my good friend, " he said, "it is pleasant to see you. And Mr. Wethermill, " he exclaimed, holding a hand out to the young inventor. 

"You remember me, then?" said Wethermill gladly. 

"It is my profession to remember people, " said Hanaud, with a laugh. "You were at that amusing dinner-party of Mr. Ricardo's in GrosvenorSquare. "

"Monsieur, " said Wethermill, "I have come to ask your help. "

The note of appeal in his voice was loud. M. Hanaud drew up a chair bythe window and motioned to Wethermill to take it. He pointed toanother, with a bow of invitation to Mr. Ricardo. 

"Let me hear, " he said gravely. 

"It is the murder of Mme. Dauvray, " said Wethermill. 

Hanaud started. 

"And in what way, monsieur, " he asked, "are you interested in themurder of Mme. Dauvray?"

"Her companion, " said Wethermill, "the young English girl--she is agreat friend of mine. "

Hanaud's face grew stern. Then came a sparkle of anger in his eyes. 

"And what do you wish me to do, monsieur?" he asked coldly. 

"You are upon your holiday, M. Hanaud. I wish you--no, I implore you, "Wethermill cried, his voice ringing with passion, "to take up thiscase, to discover the truth, to find out what has become of Celia. "

Hanaud leaned back in his chair with his hands upon the arms. He didnot take his eyes from Harry Wethermill, but the anger died out of them. 

"Monsieur, " he said, "I do not know what your procedure is in England. But in France a detective does not take up a case or leave it aloneaccording to his pleasure. We are only servants. This affair is in thehands of M. Fleuriot, the Juge d'lnstruction of Aix. "

"But if you offered him your help it would be welcomed, " criedWethermill. "And to me that would mean so much. There would be nobungling. There would be no waste of time. Of that one would be sure. "

Hanaud shook his head gently. His eyes were softened now by a look ofpity. Suddenly he stretched out a forefinger. 

"You have, perhaps, a photograph of the young lady in that card-case inyour breast-pocket. "

Wethermill flushed red, and, drawing out the card-case, handed theportrait to Hanaud. Hanaud looked at it carefully for a few moments. 

"It was taken lately, here?" he asked. 

"Yes; for me, " replied Wethermill quietly. 

"And it is a good likeness?"

"Very. "

"How long have you known this Mlle. Celie?" he asked. 

Wethermill looked at Hanaud with a certain defiance. 

"For a fortnight. "

Hanaud raised his eyebrows. 

"You met her here?"

"Yes. "

"In the rooms, I suppose? Not at the house of one of your friends?"

"That is so, " said Wethermill quietly. "A friend of mine who had mether in Paris introduced me to her at my request. "

Hanaud handed back the portrait and drew forward his chair nearer toWethermill. His face had grown friendly. He spoke with a tone ofrespect. 

"Monsieur, I know something of you. Our friend, Mr. Ricardo, told meyour history; I asked him for it when I saw you at his dinner. You areof those about whom one does ask questions, and I know that you are nota romantic boy, but who shall say that he is safe from the appeal ofbeauty? I have seen women, monsieur, for whose purity of soul I wouldmyself have stood security, condemned for complicity in brutal crimeson evidence that could not be gainsaid; and I have known them turnfoul-mouthed, and hideous to look upon, the moment after their justsentence has been pronounced. "

"No doubt, monsieur, " said Wethermill, with perfect quietude. "ButCelia Harland is not one of those women. "

"I do not now say that she is, " said Hanaud. "But the Juged'lnstruction here has already sent to me to ask for my assistance, andI refused. I replied that I was just a good bourgeois enjoying hisholiday. Still it is difficult quite to forget one's profession. It wasthe Commissaire of Police who came to me, and naturally I talked withhim for a little while. The case is dark, monsieur, I warn you. "

"How dark?" asked Harry Wethermill. 

"I will tell you, " said Hanaud, drawing his chair still closer to theyoung man. "Understand this in the first place. There was an accomplicewithin the villa. Some one let the murderers in. There is no sign of anentrance being forced; no lock was picked, there is no mark of a thumbon any panel, no sign of a bolt being forced. There was an accomplicewithin the house. We start from that. "

Wethermill nodded his head sullenly. Ricardo drew his chair up towardsthe others. But Hanaud was not at that moment interested in Ricardo. 

"Well, then, let us see who there are in Mme. Dauvray's household. Thelist is not a long one. It was Mme. Dauvray's habit to take herluncheon and her dinner at the restaurants, and her maid was all thatshe required to get ready her 'petit dejeuner' in the morning and her'sirop' at night. Let us take the members of the household one by one. There is first the chauffeur, Henri Servettaz. He was not at the villalast night. He came back to it early this morning. "

"Ah!" said Ricardo, in a significant exclamation. Wethermill did notstir. He sat still as a stone, with a face deadly white and eyesburning upon Hanaud's face. 

"But wait, " said Hanaud, holding up a warning hand to Ricardo. "Servettaz was in Chambery, where his parents live. He travelled toChambery by the two o'clock train yesterday. He was with them in theafternoon. He went with them to a cafe in the evening. Moreover, earlythis morning the maid, Helene Vauquier, was able to speak a few wordsin answer to a question. She said Servettaz was in Chambery. She gavehis address. A telephone message was sent to the police in that town, and Servettaz was found in bed. I do not say that it is impossible thatServettaz was concerned in the crime. That we shall see. But it isquite clear, I think, that it was not he who opened the house to themurderers, for he was at Chambery in the evening, and the murder wasalready discovered here by midnight. Moreover--it is a small point--helives, not in the house, but over the garage in a corner of the garden. Then besides the chauffeur there was a charwoman, a woman of Aix, whocame each morning at seven and left in the evening at seven or eight. Sometimes she would stay later if the maid was alone in the house, forthe maid is nervous. But she left last night before nine--there isevidence of that--and the murder did not take place until afterwards. That is also a fact, not a conjecture. We can leave the charwoman, whofor the rest has the best of characters, out of our calculations. Thereremain then, the maid, Helene Vauquier, and"--he shrugged hisshoulders--"Mlle. Celie. "

Hanaud reached out for the matches and lit a cigarette. 

"Let us take first the maid, Helene Vauquier. Forty years old, aNormandy peasant woman--they are not bad people, the Normandy peasants, monsieur--avaricious, no doubt, but on the whole honest and mostrespectable. We know something of Helene Vauquier, monsieur. See!" andhe took up a sheet of paper from the table. The paper was foldedlengthwise, written upon only on the inside. "I have some details here. Our police system is, I think, a little more complete than yours inEngland. Helene Vauquier has served Mme. Dauvray for seven years. Shehas been the confidential friend rather than the maid. And mark this, M. Wethermill! During those seven years how many opportunities has shehad of conniving at last night's crime? She was found chloroformed andbound. There is no doubt that she was chloroformed. Upon that point Dr. Peytin is quite, quite certain. He saw her before she recoveredconsciousness. She was violently sick on awakening. She sank again intounconsciousness. She is only now in a natural sleep. Besides thosepeople, there is Mlle. Celie. Of her, monsieur, nothing is known. Youyourself know nothing of her. She comes suddenly to Aix as thecompanion of Mme. Dauvray--a young and pretty English girl. How did shebecome the companion of Mme. Dauvray?"

Wethermill stirred uneasily in his seat. His face flushed. To Mr. Ricardo that had been from the beginning the most interesting problemof the case. Was he to have the answer now?

"I do not know, " answered Wethermill, with some hesitation, and then itseemed that he was at once ashamed of his hesitation. His accentgathered strength, and in a low but ringing voice, he added: "But I saythis. You have told me, M. Hanaud, of women who looked innocent andwere guilty. But you know also of women and girls who can liveuntainted and unspoilt amidst surroundings which are suspicious. "

Hanaud listened, but he neither agreed nor denied. He took up a secondslip of paper. 

"I shall tell you something now of Mme. Dauvray, " he said. "We will nottake up her early history. It might not be edifying and, poor woman, she is dead. Let us not go back beyond her marriage seventeen years agoto a wealthy manufacturer of Nancy, whom she had met in Paris. Sevenyears ago M. Dauvray died, leaving his widow a very rich woman. She hada passion for jewellery, which she was now able to gratify. Shecollected jewels. A famous necklace, a well-known stone--she was not, as you say, happy till she got it. She had a fortune in preciousstones--oh, but a large fortune! By the ostentation of her jewels sheparaded her wealth here, at Monte Carlo, in Paris. Besides that, shewas kind-hearted and most impressionable. Finally, she was, like somany of her class, superstitious to the degree of folly. "

Suddenly Mr. Ricardo started in his chair. Superstitious! The word wasa sudden light upon his darkness. Now he knew what had perplexed himduring the last two days. Clearly--too clearly--he remembered where hehad seen Celia Harland, and when. A picture rose before his eyes, andit seemed to strengthen like a film in a developing-dish as Hanaudcontinued:

"Very well! take Mme. Dauvray as we find her--rich, ostentatious, easily taken by a new face, generous, and foolishly superstitious--andyou have in her a living provocation to every rogue. By a hundredinstances she proclaimed herself a dupe. She threw down a challenge toevery criminal to come and rob her. For seven years Helene Vauquierstands at her elbow and protects her from serious trouble. Suddenlythere is added to her--your young friend, and she is robbed andmurdered. And, follow this, M. Wethermill, our thieves are, I think, more brutal to their victims than is the case with you. "

Wethermill shut his eyes in a spasm of pain and the pallor of his faceincreased. 

"Suppose that Celia were one of the victims?" he cried in a stifledvoice. 

Hanaud glanced at him with a look of commiseration. 

"That perhaps we shall see, " he said. "But what I meant was this. Astranger like Mlle. Celie might be the accomplice in such a crime asthe crime of the Villa Rose, meaning only robbery. A stranger mightonly have discovered too late that murder would be added to the theft. "

Meanwhile, in strong, clear colours, Ricardo's picture stood out beforehis eyes. He was startled by hearing Wethermill say, in a firm voice:

"My friend Ricardo has something to add to what you have said. "

"I!" exclaimed Ricardo. How in the world could Wethermill know of thatclear picture in his mind?

"Yes. You saw Celia Harland on the evening before the murder. "

Ricardo stared at his friend. It seemed to him that Harry Wethermillhad gone out of his mind. Here he was corroborating the suspicions ofthe police by facts--damning and incontrovertible facts. 

"On the night before the murder, " continued Wethermill quietly, "CeliaHarland lost money at the baccarat-table. Ricardo saw her in the gardenbehind the rooms, and she was hysterical. Later on that same night hesaw her again with me, and he heard what she said. I asked her to cometo the rooms on the next evening--yesterday, the night of thecrime--and her face changed, and she said, 'No, we have other plans fortomorrow. But the night after I shall want you. '"

Hanaud sprang up from his chair. 

"And YOU tell me these two things!" he cried. 

"Yes, " said Wethermill. "You were kind enough to say to me I was not aromantic boy. I am not. I can face facts. "

Hanaud stared at his companion for a few moments. Then, with aremarkable air of consideration, he bowed. 

"You have won, monsieur, " he said. "I will take up this case. But, " andhis face grew stern and he brought his fist down upon the table with abang, "I shall follow it to the end now, be the consequences bitter asdeath to you. "

"That is what I wish, monsieur, " said Wethermill. 

Hanaud locked up the slips of paper in his lettercase. Then he went outof the room and returned in a few minutes. 

"We will begin at the beginning, " he said briskly. "I have telephonedto the Depot. Perrichet, the sergent-de-ville who discovered the crime, will be here at once. We will walk down to the villa with him, and onthe way he shall tell us exactly what he discovered and how hediscovered it. At the villa we shall find Monsieur Fleuriot, the Juged'lnstruction, who has already begun his examination, and theCommissaire of Police. In company with them we will inspect the villa. Except for the removal of Mme. Dauvray's body from the salon to herbedroom and the opening of the windows, the house remains exactly as itwas. "

"We may come with you?" cried Harry Wethermill eagerly. 

"Yes, on one condition--that you ask no questions, and answer noneunless I put them to you. Listen, watch, examine--but no interruptions!"

Hanaud's manner had altogether changed. It was now authoritative andalert. He turned to Ricardo. 

"You will swear to what you saw in the garden and to the words youheard?" he asked. "They are important. "

"Yes, " said Ricardo. 

But he kept silence about that clear picture in his mind which to himseemed no less important, no less suggestive. 

The Assembly Hall at Leamington, a crowded audience chiefly of ladies, a platform at one end on which a black cabinet stood. A man, erect andwith something of the soldier in his bearing, led forward a girl, pretty and fair-haired, who wore a black velvet dress with a long, sweeping train. She moved like one in a dream. Some half-dozen peoplefrom the audience climbed on to the platform, tied thy girl's handswith tape behind her back, and sealed the tape. She was led to thecabinet, and in full view of the audience fastened to a bench. Then thedoor of the cabinet was closed, the people upon the platform descendedinto the body of the hall, and the lights were turned very low. Theaudience sat in suspense, and then abruptly in the silence and thedarkness there came the rattle of a tambourine from the empty platform. Rappings and knockings seemed to flicker round the panels of the hall, and in the place where the door of the cabinet should be there appeareda splash of misty whiteness. The whiteness shaped itself dimly into thefigure of a woman, a face dark and Eastern became visible, and a deepvoice spoke in a chant of the Nile and Antony. Then the vision faded, the tambourines and cymbals rattled again. The lights were turned up, the door of the cabinet thrown open, and the girl in the black velvetdress was seen fastened upon the bench within. 

It was a spiritualistic performance at which Julius Ricardo had beenpresent two years ago. The young, fair-haired girl in black velvet, themedium, was Celia Harland. 

That was the picture which was in Ricardo's mind, and Hanaud'sdescription of Mme. Dauvray made a terrible commentary upon it. "Easilytaken by a new face, generous, and foolishly superstitious, a livingprovocation to every rogue. " Those were the words, and here was abeautiful girl of twenty versed in those very tricks of imposture whichwould make Mme. Dauvray her natural prey!

Ricardo looked at Wethermill, doubtful whether he should tell what heknew of Celia Harland or not. But before he had decided a knock cameupon the door. 

"Here is Perrichet, " said Hanaud, taking up his hat. "We will go downto the Villa Rose. "

CHAPTER III

PERRICHET'S STORY

Perrichet was a young, thick-set man, with, a red, fair face, and amoustache and hair so pale in colour that they were almost silver. Hecame into the room with an air of importance. 

"Aha!" said Hanaud, with a malicious smile. "You went to bed late lastnight, my friend. Yet you were up early enough to read the newspaper. Well, I am to have the honour of being associated with you in thiscase. "

Perrichet twirled his cap awkwardly and blushed. 

"Monsieur is pleased to laugh at me, " he said. "But it was not I whocalled myself intelligent. Though indeed I would like to be so, for thegood God knows I do not look it. "

Hanaud clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Then congratulate yourself! It is a great advantage to be intelligentand not to look it. We shall get on famously. Come!"

The four men descended the stairs, and as they walked towards the villaPerrichet related, concisely and clearly, his experience of the night. 

"I passed the gate of the villa about half-past nine, " he said. "Thegate was dosed. Above the wall and bushes of the garden I saw a brightlight in the room upon the first floor which faces the road at thesouth-western comer of the villa. The lower windows I could not see. More than an hour afterwards I came back, and as I passed the villaagain I noticed that there was now no light in the room upon the firstfloor, but that the gate was open. I thereupon went into the garden, and, pulling the gate, let it swing to and latch. But it occurred to meas I did so that there might be visitors at the villa who had not yetleft, and for whom the gate had been set open. I accordingly followedthe drive which winds round to the front door. The front door is not onthe side of the villa which faces the road, but at the back. When Icame to the open space where the carriages turn, I saw that the housewas in complete darkness. There were wooden latticed doors to the longwindows on the ground floor, and these were closed. I tried one to makecertain, and found the fastenings secure. The other windows upon thatfloor were shuttered. No light gleamed anywhere. I then left thegarden, closing the gate behind me. I heard a clock strike the hour afew minutes afterwards, so that I can be sure of the time. It was noweleven o'clock. I came round a third time an hour after, and to myastonishment I found the gate once more open. I had left it closed andthe house shut up and dark. Now it stood open! I looked up to thewindows and I saw that in a room on the second floor, close beneath theroof, a light was burning brightly. That room had been dark an hourbefore. I stood and watched the light for a few minutes, thinking thatI should see it suddenly go out. But it did not: it burned quitesteadily. This light and the gate opened and reopened aroused mysuspicions. I went again into the garden, but this time with greatercaution. It was a clear night, and, although there was no moon, I couldsee without the aid of my lantern. I stole quietly along the drive. When I came round to the front door, I noticed immediately that theshutters of one of the ground-floor windows were swung back, and thatthe inside glass window which descended to the ground stood open. Thesight gave me a shock. Within the house those shutters had been opened. I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins and a chill crept along myspine. I thought of that solitary light burning steadily under theroof. I was convinced that something terrible had happened. "

"Yes, yes. Quite so, " said Hanaud. "Go on, my friend. "

"The interior of the room gaped black, " Perrichet resumed. "I crept upto the window at the side of the wall and dashed my lantern into theroom. The window, however, was in a recess which opened into the roomthrough an arch, and at each side of the arch curtains were draped. Thecurtains were not closed, but between them I could see nothing but astrip of the room. I stepped carefully in, taking heed not to walk onthe patch of grass before the window. The light of my lantern showed mea chair overturned upon the floor, and to my right, below the middleone of the three windows in the right-hand side wall, a woman lyinghuddled upon the floor. It was Mme. Dauvray. She was dressed. There wasa little mud upon her shoes, as though she had walked after the rainhad ceased. Monsieur will remember that two heavy showers fell lastevening between six and eight. "

"Yes, " said Hanaud, nodding his approval. 

"She was quite dead. Her face was terribly swollen and black, and apiece of thin strong cord was knotted so tightly about her neck and hadsunk so deeply into her flesh that at first I did not see it. For Mme. Dauvray was stout. "

"Then what did you do?" asked Hanaud. 

"I went to the telephone which was in the hall and rang up the police. Then I crept upstairs very cautiously, trying the doors. I came upon noone until I reached the room under the roof where the light wasburning; there I found Helene Vauquier, the maid, snoring in bed in aterrible fashion. "

The four men turned a bend in the road. A few paces away a knot ofpeople stood before a gate which a sergent-de-ville guarded. 

"But here we are at the villa, " said Hanaud. 

They all looked up and, from a window at the corner upon the firstfloor a man looked out and drew in his head. 

"That is M. Besnard, the Commissaire of our police in Aix, " saidPerrichet. 

"And the window from which he looked, " said Hanaud, "must be the windowof that room in which you saw the bright light at half-past nine onyour first round?"

"Yes, m'sieur, " said Perrichet; "that is the window. "

They stopped at the gate. Perrichet spoke to the sergent-de-ville, whoat once held the gate open. The party passed into the garden of thevilla. 

CHAPTER IV

AT THE VILLA

The drive curved between trees and high bushes towards the back of thehouse, and as the party advanced along it a small, trim, soldier-likeman, with a pointed beard, came to meet them. It was the man who hadlooked out from the window, Louis Besnard, the Commissaire of Police. 

"You are coming, then, to help us, M. Hanaud!" he cried, extending hishands. "You will find no jealousy here; no spirit amongst us ofanything but good will; no desire except one to carry out yoursuggestions. All we wish is that the murderers should be discovered. Mon Dieu, what a crime! And so young a girl to be involved in it! Butwhat will you?"

"So you have already made your mind up on that point!" said Hanaudsharply. 

The Commissaire shrugged his shoulders. 

"Examine the villa and then judge for yourself whether any otherexplanation is conceivable, " he said; and turning, he waved his handtowards the house. Then he cried, "Ah!" and drew himself into anattitude of attention. A tall, thin man of about forty-five years, dressed in a frock coat and a high silk hat, had just come round anangle of the drive and was moving slowly towards them. He wore thesoft, curling brown beard of one who has never used a razor on hischin, and had a narrow face with eyes of a very light grey, and a roundbulging forehead. 

"This is the Juge d'Instruction?" asked Hanaud. 

"Yes; M. Fleuriot, " replied Louis Besnard in a whisper. 

M. Fleuriot was occupied with his own thoughts, and it was not untilBesnard stepped forward noisily on the gravel that he became aware ofthe group in the garden. 

"This is M. Hanaud, of the Surete in Paris, " said Louis Besnard. 

M. Fleuriot bowed with cordiality. 

"You are very welcome, M. Hanaud. You will find that nothing at thevilla has been disturbed. The moment the message arrived over thetelephone that you were willing to assist us I gave instructions thatall should be left as we found it. I trust that you, with yourexperience, will see a way where our eyes find none. "

Hanaud bowed in reply. 

"I shall do my best, M. Fleuriot. I can say no more, " he said. 

"But who are these gentlemen?" asked Fleuriot, waking, it seemed, nowfor the first time to the presence of Harry Wethermill and Mr. Ricardo. 

"They are both friends of mine, " replied Hanaud. "If you do not objectI think their assistance may be useful. Mr. Wethermill, for instance, was acquainted with Celia Harland. "

"Ah!" cried the judge; and his face took on suddenly a keen and eagerlook. "You can tell me about her perhaps?"

"All that I know I will tell readily, " said Harry Wethermill. 

Into the light eyes of M. Fleuriot there came a cold, bright gleam. Hetook a step forward. His face seemed to narrow to a greater sharpness. In a moment, to Mr. Ricardo's thought, he ceased to be the judge; hedropped from his high office; he dwindled into a fanatic. 

"She is a Jewess, this Celia Harland?" he cried. 

"No, M. Fleuriot, she is not, " replied Wethermill. "I do not speak indisparagement of that race, for I count many friends amongst itsmembers. But Celia Harland is not one of them. "

"Ah!" said Fleuriot; and there was something of disappointment, something, too, of incredulity, in his voice. "Well, you will come andreport to me when you have made your investigation. " And he passed onwithout another question or remark. 

The group of men watched him go, and it was not until he was out ofearshot that Besnard turned with a deprecating gesture to Hanaud. 

"Yes, yes, he is a good judge, M. Hanaud--quick, discriminating, sympathetic; but he has that bee in his bonnet, like so many others. Everywhere he must see l'affaire Dreyfus. He cannot get it out of hishead. No matter how insignificant a woman is murdered, she must haveletters in her possession which would convict Dreyfus. But you know!There are thousands like that--good, kindly, just people in theordinary ways of life, but behind every crime they see the Jew. "

Hanaud nodded his head. 

"I know; and in a Juge d'Instruction it is very embarrassing. Let uswalk on. "

Half-way between the gate and the villa a second carriage-road struckoff to the left, and at the entrance to it stood a young, stout man inblack leggings. 

"The chauffeur?" asked Hanaud. "I will speak to him. "

The Commissaire called the chauffeur forward. 

"Servettaz, " he said, "you will answer any questions which monsieur mayput to you. "

"Certainly, M. Le Commissaire, " said the chauffeur. His manner wasserious, but he answered readily. There was no sign of fear upon hisface. 

"How long have you been with Mme. Dauvray?" Hanaud asked. 

"Four months, monsieur. I drove her to Aix from Paris. "

"And since your parents live at Chambery you wished to seize theopportunity of spending a day with them while you were so near?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"When did you ask for permission?"

"On Saturday, monsieur. "

"Did you ask particularly that you should have yesterday, the Tuesday?"

"No, monsieur; I asked only for a day whenever it should be convenientto madame. "

"Quite so, " said Hanaud. "Now, when did Mme. Dauvray tell you that youmight have Tuesday?"

Servettaz hesitated. His face became troubled. When he spoke, he spokereluctantly. 

"It was not Mme. Dauvray, monsieur, who told me that I might go onTuesday, " he said. 

"Not Mme. Dauvray! Who was it, then?" Hanaud asked sharply. 

Servettaz glanced from one to another of the grave faces whichconfronted him. 

"It was Mlle. Celie, " he said, "who told me. "

"Oh!" said Hanaud, slowly. "It was Mlle. Celie. When did she tell you?"

"On Monday morning, monsieur. I was cleaning the car. She came to thegarage with some flowers in her hand which she had been cutting in thegarden, and she said: 'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart. You can go to-morrow by the train which leaves Aix at 1. 52 and arrivesat Chambery at nine minutes after two. '"

Hanaud started. 

"'I was right, Alphonse. ' Were those her words? And 'Madame has a kindheart. ' Come, come, what is all this?" He lifted a warning finger andsaid gravely, "Be very careful, Servettaz. "

"Those were her words, monsieur. "

"'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart'?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Then Mlle. Celie had spoken to you before about this visit of yours toChambery, " said Hanaud, with his eyes fixed steadily upon thechauffeur's face. The distress upon Servettaz's face increased. Suddenly Hanaud's voice rang sharply. "You hesitate. Begin at thebeginning. Speak the truth, Servettaz!"

"Monsieur, I am speaking the truth, " said the chauffeur. "It is true Ihesitate ... I have heard this morning what people are saying ... I donot know what to think. Mlle. Celie was always kind and thoughtful forme ... But it is true"--and with a kind of desperation he wenton--"yes, it is true that it was Mlle. Celie who first suggested to methat I should ask for a day to go to Chambery. "

"When did she suggest it?"

"On the Saturday. "

To Mr. Ricardo the words were startling. He glanced with pity towardsWethermill. Wethermill, however, had made up his mind for good and all. He stood with a dogged look upon his face, his chin thrust forward, hiseyes upon the chauffeur. Besnard, the Commissaire, had made up hismind, too. He merely shrugged his shoulders. Hanaud stepped forward andlaid his hand gently on the chauffeur's arm. 

"Come, my friend, " he said, "let us hear exactly how this happened!"

"Mlle. Celie, " said Servettaz, with genuine compunction in his voice, "came to the garage on Saturday morning and ordered the car for theafternoon. She stayed and talked to me for a little while, as she oftendid. She said that she had been told that my parents lived at Chambery, and since I was so near I ought to ask for a holiday. For it would notbe kind if I did not go and see them. "

"That was all?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Very well. " And the detective resumed at once his brisk voice andalert manner. He seemed to dismiss Servettaz's admission from his mind. Ricardo had the impression of a man tying up an important documentwhich for the moment he has done with, and putting it away ticketed insome pigeon-hole in his desk. "Let us see the garage!"

They followed the road between the bushes until a turn showed them thegarage with its doors open. 

"The doors were found unlocked?"

"Just as you see them. "

Hanaud nodded. He spoke again to Servettaz. "What did you do with thekey on Tuesday?"

"I gave it to Helene Vauquier, monsieur, after I had locked up thegarage. And she hung it on a nail in the kitchen. "

"I see, " said Hanaud. "So any one could easily, have found it lastnight?"

"Yes, monsieur--if one knew where to look for it. "

At the back of the garage a row of petrol-tins stood against the brickwall. 

"Was any petrol taken?" asked Hanaud. 

"Yes, monsieur; there was very little petrol in the car when I wentaway. More was taken, but it was taken from the middle tins--these. "And he touched the tins. 

"I see, " said Hanaud, and he raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. TheCommissaire moved with impatience. 

"From the middle or from the end--what does it matter?" he exclaimed. "The petrol was taken. "

Hanaud, however, did not dismiss the point so lightly. 

"But it is very possible that it does matter, " he said gently. "Forexample, if Servettaz had had no reason to examine his tins it mighthave been some while before he found out that the petrol had beentaken. "

"Indeed, yes, " said Servettaz. "I might even have forgotten that I hadnot used it myself. "

"Quite so, " said Hanaud, and he turned to Besnard. 

"I think that may be important. I do not know, " he said. 

"But since the car is gone, " cried Besnard, "how could the chauffeurnot look immediately at his tins?"

The question had occurred to Ricardo, and he wondered in what wayHanaud meant to answer it. Hanaud, however, did not mean to answer it. He took little notice of it at all. He put it aside with a superbindifference to the opinion which his companions might form of him. 

"Ah, yes, " he said, carelessly. "Since the car is gone, as you say, that is so. " And he turned again to Servettaz. 

"It was a powerful car?" he asked. 

"Sixty horse-power, " said Servettaz. 

Hanaud turned to the Commissaire. 

"You have the number and description, I suppose? It will be as well toadvertise for it. It may have been seen; it must be somewhere. "

The Commissaire replied that the description had already been printed, and Hanaud, with a nod of approval, examined the ground. In front ofthe garage there was a small stone courtyard, but on its surface therewas no trace of a footstep. 

"Yet the gravel was wet, " he said, shaking his head. "The man whofetched that car fetched it carefully. "

He turned and walked back with his eyes upon the ground. Then he ran tothe grass border between the gravel and the bushes. 

"Look!" he said to Wethermill; "a foot has pressed the blades of grassdown here, but very lightly--yes, and there again. Some one ran alongthe border here on his toes. Yes, he was very careful. "

They turned again into the main drive, and, following it for a fewyards, came suddenly upon a space in front of the villa. It was a smalltoy pleasure-house, looking on to a green lawn gay with flower-beds. Itwas built of yellow stone, and was almost square in shape. A couple ofornate pillars flanked the door, and a gable roof, topped by a giltvane, surmounted it. To Ricardo it seemed impossible that so sordid andsinister a tragedy had taken place within its walls during the lasttwelve hours. It glistened so gaudily in the blaze of sunlight. Hereand there the green outer shutters were closed; here and there thewindows stood open to let in the air and light. Upon each side of thedoor there was a window lighting the hall, which was large; beyondthose windows again, on each side, there were glass doors opening tothe ground and protected by the ordinary green latticed shutters ofwood, which now stood hooked back against the wall. These glass doorsopened into rooms oblong in shape, which ran through towards the backof the house, and were lighted in addition by side windows. The roomupon the extreme left, as the party faced the villa, was thedining-room, with the kitchen at the back; the room on the right wasthe salon in which the murder had been committed. In front of the glassdoor to this room a strip of what had once been grass stretched to thegravel drive. But the grass had been worn away by constant use, and theblack mould showed through. This strip was about three yards wide, andas they approached they saw, even at a distance, that since the rain oflast night it had been trampled down. 

"We will go round the house first, " said Hanaud, and he turned alongthe side of the villa and walked in the direction of the road. Therewere four windows just above his head, of which three lighted thesalon, and the fourth a small writing-room behind it. Under thesewindows there was no disturbance of the ground, and a carefulinvestigation showed conclusively that the only entrance used had beenthe glass doors of the salon facing the drive. To that spot, then, theyreturned. There were three sets of footmarks upon the soil. One set ranin a distinct curve from the drive to the side of the door, and did notcross the others. 

"Those, " said Hanaud, "are the footsteps of my intelligent friend, Perrichet, who was careful not to disturb the ground. "

Perrichet beamed all over his rosy face, and Besnard nodded at him withcondescending approval. 

"But I wish, M. Le Commissaire"--and Hanaud pointed to a blur ofmarks--"that your other officers had been as intelligent. Look! Theserun from the glass door to the drive, and, for all the use they are tous, a harrow might have been dragged across them. "

Besnard drew himself up. 

"Not one of my officers has entered the room by way of this door. Thestrictest orders were given and obeyed. The ground, as you see it, isthe ground as it was at twelve o'clock last night. "

Hanaud's face grew thoughtful. 

"Is that so?" he said, and he stooped to examine the second set ofmarks. They were at the righthand side of the door. "A woman and aman, " he said. "But they are mere hints rather than prints. One mightalmost think--" He rose up without finishing his sentence, and heturned to the third set and a look of satisfaction gleamed upon hisface. "Ah! here is something more interesting, " he said. 

There were just three impressions; and, whereas the blurred marks wereat the side, these three pointed straight from the middle of the glassdoors to the drive. They were quite clearly defined, and all three werethe impressions made by a woman's small, arched, high-heeled shoe. Theposition of the marks was at first sight a little peculiar. There wasone a good yard from the window, the impression of the right foot, andthe pressure of the sole of the shoe was more marked than that of theheel. The second, the impression of the left foot, was not quite so farfrom the first as the first was from the window, and here again theheel was the more lightly defined. But there was this difference--themark of the toe, which was pointed in the first instance, was, in this, broader and a trifle blurred. Close beside it the right foot was againvisible; only now the narrow heel was more clearly defined than theball of the foot. It had, indeed, sunk half an inch into the softground. There were no further imprints. Indeed, these two were notmerely close together, they were close to the gravel of the drive andon the very border of the grass. 

Hanaud looked at the marks thoughtfully. Then he turned to theCommissaire. 

"Are there any shoes in the house which fit those marks?"

"Yes. We have tried the shoes of all the women--Celie Harland, themaid, and even Mme. Dauvray. The only ones which fit at all are thosetaken from Celie Harland's bedroom. "

He called to an officer standing in the drive, and a pair of grey suedeshoes were brought to him from the hall. 

"See, M. Hanaud, it is a pretty little foot which made those clearimpressions, " he said, with a smile; "a foot arched and slender. Mme. Dauvray's foot is short and square, the maid's broad and flat. NeitherMme. Dauvray nor Helene Vauquier could have worn these shoes. They werelying, one here, one there, upon the floor of Celie Harland's room, asthough she had kicked them off in a hurry. They are almost new, yousee. They have been worn once, perhaps, no more, and they fit withabsolute precision into those footmarks, except just at the toe of thatsecond one. "

Hanaud took the shoes and, kneeling down, placed them one after theother over the impressions. To Ricardo it was extraordinary how exactlythey covered up the marks and filled the indentations. 

"I should say, " said the Commissaire, "that Celie Harland went awaywearing a new pair of shoes made on the very same last as those. "

As those she had left carelessly lying on the floor of her room for thefirst person to notice, thought Ricardo! It seemed as if the girl hadgone out of her way to make the weight of evidence against her as heavyas possible. Yet, after all, it was just through inattention to thesmall details, so insignificant at the red moment of crime, so terriblyinstructive the next day, that guilt was generally brought home. 

Hanaud rose to his feet and handed the shoes back to the officer. 

"Yes, " he said, "so it seems. The shoemaker can help us here. I see theshoes were made in Aix. "

Besnard looked at the name stamped in gold letters upon the lining ofthe shoes. 

"I will have inquiries made, " he said. 

Hanaud nodded, took a measure from his pocket and measured the groundbetween the window and the first footstep, and between the firstfootstep and the other two. 

"How tall is Mlle. Celie?" he asked, and he addressed the question toWethermill. It struck Ricardo as one of the strangest details in allthis strange affair that the detective should ask with confidence forinformation which might help to bring Celia Harland to the guillotinefrom the man who had staked his happiness upon her innocence. 

"About five feet seven, " he answered. 

Hanaud replaced his measure in his pocket. He turned with a grave faceto Wethermill. 

"I warned you fairly, didn't I?" he said. 

Wethermill's white face twitched. 

"Yes, " he said. "I am not afraid. " But there was more of anxiety in hisvoice than there had been before. 

Hanaud pointed solemnly to the ground. 

"Read the story those footprints write in the mould there. A young andactive girl of about Mlle. Celie's height, and wearing a new pair ofMlle. Celie's shoes, springs from that room where the murder wascommitted, where the body of the murdered woman lies. She is running. She is wearing a long gown. At the second step the hem of the gowncatches beneath the point of her shoe. She stumbles. To save herselffrom falling she brings up the other foot sharply and stamps the heeldown into the ground. She recovers her balance. She steps on to thedrive. It is true the gravel here is hard and takes no mark, but youwill see that some of the mould which has clung to her shoes hasdropped off. She mounts into the motor-car with the man and the otherwoman and drives off--some time between eleven and twelve. "

"Between eleven and twelve? Is that sure?" asked Besnard. 

"Certainly, " replied Hanaud. "The gate is open at eleven, and Perrichetcloses it. It is open again at twelve. Therefore the murderers had notgone before eleven. No; the gate was open for them to go, but they hadnot gone. Else why should the gate again be open at midnight?"

Besnard nodded in assent, and suddenly Perrichet started forward, withhis eyes full of horror. 

"Then, when I first closed the gate, " he cried, "and came into thegarden and up to the house they were here--in that room? Oh, my God!"He stared at the window, with his mouth open. 

"I am afraid, my friend, that is so, " said Hanaud gravely. 

"But I knocked upon the wooden door, I tried the bolts; and they werewithin--in the darkness within, holding their breath not three yardsfrom me. "

He stood transfixed. 

"That we shall see, " said Hanaud. 

He stepped in Perrichet's footsteps to the sill of the room. Heexamined the green wooden doors which opened outwards, and the glassdoors which opened inwards, taking a magnifying-glass from his pocket. He called Besnard to his side. 

"See!" he said, pointing to the woodwork. 

"Finger-marks!" asked Besnard eagerly. 

"Yes; of hands in gloves, " returned Hanaud. "We shall learn nothingfrom these marks except that the assassins knew their trade. "

Then he stooped down to the sill, where some traces of steps werevisible. He rose with a gesture of resignation. 

"Rubber shoes, " he said, and so stepped into the room, followed byWethermill and the others. They found themselves in a small recesswhich was panelled with wood painted white, and here and theredelicately carved into festoons of flowers. The recess ended in anarch, supported by two slender pillars, and on the inner side of thearch thick curtains of pink silk were hung. These were drawn backcarelessly, and through the opening between them the party looked downthe length of the room beyond. They passed within. 

CHAPTER V

IN THE SALON

Julius Ricardo pushed aside the curtains with a thrill of excitement. He found himself standing within a small oblong room which wasprettily, even daintily, furnished. On his left, close by the recess, was a small fireplace with the ashes of a burnt-out fire in the grate. Beyond the grate a long settee covered in pink damask, with a crumpledcushion at each end, stood a foot or two away from the wall, and beyondthe settee the door of the room opened into the hall. At the end a longmirror was let into the panelling, and a writing-table stood by themirror. On the right were the three windows, and between the twonearest to Mr. Ricardo was the switch of the electric light. Achandelier hung from the ceiling, an electric lamp stood upon thewriting-table, a couple of electric candles on the mantel-shelf. Around satinwood table stood under the windows, with three chairs aboutit, of which one was overturned, one was placed with its back to theelectric switch, and the third on the opposite side facing it. 

Ricardo could hardly believe that he stood actually upon the spotwhere, within twelve hours, a cruel and sinister tragedy had takenplace. There was so little disorder. The three windows on his rightshowed him the blue sunlit sky and a glimpse of flowers and trees;behind him the glass doors stood open to the lawn, where birds pipedcheerfully and the trees murmured of summer. But he saw Hanaud steppingquickly from place to place, with an extraordinary lightness of stepfor so big a man, obviously engrossed, obviously reading here and theresome detail, some custom of the inhabitants of that room. 

Ricardo leaned with careful artistry against the wall. 

"Now, what has this room to say to me?" he asked importantly. Nobodypaid the slightest attention to his question, and it was just as well. For the room had very little information to give him. He ran his eyeover the white Louis Seize furniture, the white panels of the wall, thepolished floor, the pink curtains. Even the delicate tracery of theceiling did not escape his scrutiny. Yet he saw nothing likely to helphim but an overturned chair and a couple of crushed cushions on asettee. It was very annoying, all the more annoying because M. Hanaudwas so uncommonly busy. Hanaud looked carefully at the long settee andthe crumpled cushions, and he took out his measure and measured thedistance between the cushion at one end and the cushion at the other. He examined the table, he measured the distance between the chairs. Hecame to the fireplace and raked in the ashes of the burnt-out fire. ButRicardo noticed a singular thing. In the midst of his search Hanaud'seyes were always straying back to the settee, and always with a look ofextreme perplexity, as if he read there something, definitelysomething, but something which he could not explain. Finally he wentback to it; he drew it farther away from the wall, and suddenly with alittle cry he stooped and went down on his knees. When he rose he washolding some torn fragments of paper in his hand. He went over to thewriting-table and opened the blotting-book. Where it fell open therewere some sheets of note-paper, and one particular sheet of which halfhad been torn off. He compared the pieces which he held with that tornsheet, and seemed satisfied. 

There was a rack for note-paper upon the table, and from it he took astiff card. 

"Get me some gum or paste, and quickly, " he said. His voice had becomebrusque, the politeness had gone from his address. He carried the cardand the fragments of paper to the round table. There he sat down and, with infinite patience, gummed the fragments on to the card, fittingthem together like the pieces of a Chinese puzzle. 

The others over his shoulders could see spaced words, written inpencil, taking shape as a sentence upon the card. Hanaud turnedabruptly in his seat toward Wethermill. 

"You have, no doubt, a letter written by Mlle. Celie?"

Wethermill took his letter-case from his pocket and a letter out of thecase. He hesitated for a moment as he glanced over what was written. The four sheets were covered. He folded back the letter, so that onlythe two inner sheets were visible, and handed it to Hanaud. Hanaudcompared it with the handwriting upon the card. 

"Look!" he said at length, and the three men gathered behind him. Onthe card the gummed fragments of paper revealed a sentence:

"Je ne sais pas. "

"'I do not know, '" said Ricardo; "now this is very important. "

Beside the card Celia's letter to Wethermill was laid. 

"What do you think?" asked Hanaud. 

Besnard, the Commissaire of Police, bent over Hanaud's shoulder. 

"There are strong resemblances, " he said guardedly. 

Ricardo was on the look-out for deep mysteries. Resemblances were notenough for him; they were inadequate to the artistic needs of thesituation. 

"Both were written by the same hand, " he said definitely; "only in thesentence written upon the card the handwriting is carefully disguised. "

"Ah!" said the Commissaire, bending forward again. "Here is an idea!Yes, yes, there are strong differences. "

Ricardo looked triumphant. 

"Yes, there are differences, " said Hanaud. "Look how long the up strokeof the 'p' is, how it wavers! See how suddenly this 's' straggles off, as though some emotion made the hand shake. Yet this, " and touchingWethermill's letter he smiled ruefully, "this is where the emotionshould have affected the pen. " He looked up at Wethermill's face andthen said quietly:

"You have given us no opinion, monsieur. Yet your opinion should be themost valuable of all. Were these two papers written by the same hand?"

"I do not know, " answered Wethermill. 

"And I, too, " cried Hanaud, in a sudden exasperation, "je ne sais pas. I do not know. It may be her hand carelessly counterfeited. It may beher hand disguised. It may be simply that she wrote in a hurry with hergloves on. "

"It may have been written some time ago, " said Mr. Ricardo, encouragedby his success to another suggestion. 

"No; that is the one thing it could not have been, " said Hanaud. "Lookround the room. Was there ever a room better tended? Find me a littlepile of dust in any one corner if you can! It is all as clean as aplate. Every morning, except this one morning, this room has been sweptand polished. The paper was written and torn up yesterday. "

He enclosed the card in an envelope as he spoke, and placed it in hispocket. Then he rose and crossed again to the settee. He stood at theside of it, with his hands clutching the lapels of his coat and hisface gravely troubled. After a few moments of silence for himself, ofsuspense for all the others who watched him, he stooped suddenly. Slowly, and with extraordinary care, he pushed his hands under thehead-cushion and lifted it up gently, so that the indentations of itssurface might not be disarranged. He carried it over to the light ofthe open window. The cushion was covered with silk, and as he held itto the sunlight all could see a small brown stain. 

Hanaud took his magnifying-glass from his pocket and bent his head overthe cushion. But at that moment, careful though he had been, the downswelled up within the cushion, the folds and indentations disappeared, the silk covering was stretched smooth. 

"Oh!" cried Besnard tragically. "What have you done?"

Hanaud's face flushed. He had been guilty of a clumsiness--even he. 

Mr. Ricardo took up the tale. 

"Yes, " he exclaimed, "what have you done?"

Hanaud looked at Ricardo in amazement at his audacity. 

"Well, what have I done?" he asked. "Come! tell me!"

"You have destroyed a clue, " replied Ricardo impressively. 

The deepest dejection at once overspread Hanaud's burly face. 

"Don't say that, M. Ricardo, I beseech you!" he implored. "A clue! andI have destroyed it! But what kind of a clue? And how have I destroyedit? And to what mystery would it be a clue if I hadn't destroyed it?And what will become of me when I go back to Paris, and say in the Ruede Jerusalem, 'Let me sweep the cellars, my good friends, for M. Ricardo knows that I destroyed a clue. Faithfully he promised me thathe would not open his mouth, but I destroyed a clue, and hisperspicacity forced him into speech. '"

It was the turn of M. Ricardo to grow red. 

Hanaud turned with a smile to Besnard. 

"It does not really matter whether the creases in this cushion remain, "he said, "we have all seen them. " And he replaced the glass in hispocket. 

He carried that cushion back and replaced it. Then he took the other, which lay at the foot of the settee, and carried it in its turn to thewindow. This was indented too, and ridged up, and just at the marks thenap of the silk was worn, and there was a slit where it had been cut. The perplexity upon Hanaud's face greatly increased. He stood with thecushion in his hands, no longer looking at it, but looking out throughthe doors at the footsteps so clearly defined--the foot-steps of a girlwho had run from this room and sprung into a motor-car and driven away. He shook his head, and, carrying back the cushion, laid it carefullydown. Then he stood erect, gazed about the room as though even yet hemight force its secrets out from its silence, and cried, with a suddenviolence:

"There is something here, gentlemen, which I do not understand. "

Mr. Ricardo heard some one beside him draw a deep breath, and turned. Wethermill stood at his elbow. A faint colour had come back to hischeeks, his eyes were fixed intently upon Hanaud's face. 

"What do you think?" he asked; and Hanaud replied brusquely:

"It's not my business to hold opinions, monsieur; my business is tomake sure. "

There was one point, and only one, of which he had made every one inthat room sure. He had started confident. Here was a sordid crime, easily understood. But in that room he had read something which hadtroubled him, which had raised the sordid crime on to some higher andperplexing level. 

"Then M. Fleuriot after all might be right?" asked the Commissairetimidly. 

Hanaud stared at him for a second, then smiled. 

"L'affaire Dreyfus?" he cried. "Oh la, la, la! No, but there issomething else. "

What was that something? Ricardo asked himself. He looked once moreabout the room. He did not find his answer, but he caught sight of anornament upon the wall which drove the question from his mind. Theornament, if so it could be called, was a painted tambourine with abunch of bright ribbons tied to the rim; and it was hung upon the wallbetween the settee and the fireplace at about the height of a man'shead. Of course it might be no more than it seemed to be--a rathergaudy and vulgar toy, such as a woman like Mme. Dauvray would be verylikely to choose in order to dress her walls. But it swept Ricardo'sthoughts back of a sudden to the concert-hall at Leamington and theapparatus of a spiritualistic show. After all, he reflectedtriumphantly, Hanaud had not noticed everything, and as he made thereflection Hanaud's voice broke in to corroborate him. 

"We have seen everything here; let us go upstairs, " he said. "We willfirst visit the room of Mlle. Celie. Then we will question the maid, Helene Vauquier. "

The four men, followed by Perrichet, passed out by the door into thehall and mounted the stairs. Celia's room was in the southwest angle ofthe villa, a bright and airy room, of which one window overlooked theroad, and two others, between which stood the dressing-table, thegarden. Behind the room a door led into a little white-tiled bathroom. Some towels were tumbled upon the floor beside the bath. In the bedrooma dark-grey frock of tussore and a petticoat were flung carelessly onthe bed; a big grey hat of Ottoman silk was lying upon a chest ofdrawers in the recess of a window; and upon a chair a little pile offine linen and a pair of grey silk stockings, which matched in shadethe grey suede shoes, were tossed in a heap. 

"It was here that you saw the light at half-past nine?" Hanaud said, turning to Perrichet. 

"Yes, monsieur, " replied Perrichet. 

"We may assume, then, that Mlle. Celie was changing her dress at thattime. "

Besnard was looking about him, opening a drawer here, a wardrobe there. 

"Mlle. Celie, " he said, with a laugh, "was a particular young lady, andfond of her fine clothes, if one may judge from the room and the orderof the cupboards. She must have changed her dress last night in anunusual hurry. "

There was about the whole room a certain daintiness, almost, it seemedto Mr. Ricardo, a fragrance, as though the girl had impressed somethingof her own delicate self upon it. Wethermill stood upon the thresholdwatching with a sullen face the violation of this chamber by theofficers of the police. 

No such feelings, however, troubled Hanaud. He went over to thedressing-room and opened a few small leather cases which held Celia'sornaments. In one or two of them a trinket was visible; others wereempty. One of these latter Hanaud held open in his hand, and for solong that Besnard moved impatiently. 

"You see it is empty, monsieur, " he said, and suddenly Wethermill movedforward into the room. 

"Yes, I see that, " said Hanaud dryly. 

It was a case made to hold a couple of long ear-drops--those diamondear-drops, doubtless, which Mr. Ricardo had seen twinkling in thegarden. 

"Will monsieur let me see?" asked Wethermill, and he took the case inhis hands. "Yes, " he said. "Mlle. Celie's ear-drops, " and he handed thecase back with a thoughtful air. 

It was the first time he had taken a definite part in theinvestigation. To Ricardo the reason was clear. Harry Wethermill hadhimself given those ear-drops to Celia. Hanaud replaced the case andturned round. 

"There is nothing more for us to see here, " he said. "I suppose that noone has been allowed to enter the room?" And he opened the door. 

"No one except Helene Vauquier, " replied the Commissaire. 

Ricardo felt indignant at so obvious a piece of carelessness. EvenWethermill looked surprised. Hanaud merely shut the door again. 

"Oho, the maid!" he said. "Then she has recovered!"

"She is still weak, " said the Commissaire. "But I thought it wasnecessary that we should obtain at once a description of what CelieHarland wore when she left the house. I spoke to M. Fleuriot about it, and he gave me permission to bring Helene Vauquier here, who alonecould tell us. I brought her here myself just before you came. Shelooked through the girl's wardrobe to see what was missing. "

"Was she alone in the room?"

"Not for a moment, " said M. Besnard haughtily. "Really, monsieur, weare not so ignorant of how an affair of this kind should be conducted. I was in the room myself the whole time, with my eye upon her. "

"That was just before I came, " said Hanaud. He crossed carelessly tothe open window which overlooked the road and, leaning out of it, looked up the road to the corner round which he and his friends hadcome, precisely as the Commissaire had done. Then he turned back intothe room. 

"Which was the last cupboard or drawer that Helene Vauquier touched?"he asked. 

"This one. "

Besnard stooped and pulled open the bottom drawer of a chest whichstood in the embrasure of the window. A light-coloured dress was lyingat the bottom. 

"I told her to be quick, " said Besnard, "since I had seen that you werecoming. She lifted this dress out and said that nothing was missingthere. So I took her back to her room and left her with the nurse. "

Hanaud lifted the light dress from the drawer, shook it out in front ofthe window, twirled it round, snatched up a corner of it and held it tohis eyes, and then, folding it quickly, replaced it in the drawer. 

"Now show me the first drawer she touched. " And this time he lifted outa petticoat, and, taking it to the window, examined it with a greatercare. When he had finished with it he handed it to Ricardo to put away, and stood for a moment or two thoughtful and absorbed. Ricardo in histurn examined the petticoat. But he could see nothing unusual. It wasan attractive petticoat, dainty with frills and lace, but it was hardlya thing to grow thoughtful over. He looked up in perplexity and sawthat Hanaud was watching his investigations with a smile of amusement. 

"When M. Ricardo has put that away, " he said, "we will hear what HeleneVauquier has to tell us. "

He passed out of the door last, and, locking it, placed the key in hispocket. 

"Helene Vauquier's room is, I think, upstairs, " he said. And he movedtowards the staircase. 

But as he did so a man in plain clothes, who had been waiting upon thelanding, stepped forward. He carried in his hand a piece of thin, strong whipcord. 

"Ah, Durette!" cried Besnard. "Monsieur Hanaud, I sent Durette thismorning round the shops of Aix with the cord which was found knottedround Mme. Dauvray's neck. "

Hanaud advanced quickly to the man. 

"Well! Did you discover anything?"

"Yes, monsieur, " said Durette. "At the shop of M. Corval, in the Rue duCasino, a young lady in a dark-grey frock and hat bought some cord ofthis kind at a few minutes after nine last night. It was just as theshop was being closed. I showed Corval the photograph of Celie Harlandwhich M. Le Commissaire gave me out of Mme. Dauvray's room, and heidentified it as the portrait of the girl who had bought the cord. "

Complete silence followed upon Durette's words. The whole party stoodlike men stupefied. No one looked towards Wethermill; even Hanaudaverted his eyes. 

"Yes, that is very important, " he said awkwardly. He turned away and, followed by the others, went up the stairs to the bedroom of HeleneVauquier. 

CHAPTER VI

HELENE VAUQUIER'S EVIDENCE

A nurse opened the door. Within the room Helene Vauquier was leaningback in a chair. She looked ill, and her face was very white. On theappearance of Hanaud, the Commissaire, and the others, however, sherose to her feet. Ricardo recognised the justice of Hanaud'sdescription. She stood before them a hard-featured, tall woman ofthirty-five or forty, in a neat black stuff dress, strong with thestrength of a peasant, respectable, reliable. She looked what she hadbeen, the confidential maid of an elderly woman. On her face there wasnow an aspect of eager appeal. 

"Oh, monsieur!" she began, "let me go from here--anywhere--into prisonif you like. But to stay here--where in years past we were sohappy--and with madame lying in the room below. No, it isinsupportable. "

She sank into her chair, and Hanaud came over to her side. 

"Yes, yes, " he said, in a soothing voice. "I can understand yourfeelings, my poor woman. We will not keep you here. You have, perhaps, friends in Aix with whom you could stay?"

"Oh yes, monsieur!" Helene cried gratefully. "Oh, but I thank you! ThatI should have to sleep here tonight! Oh, how the fear of that hasfrightened me!"

"You need have had no such fear. After all, we are not the visitors oflast night, " said Hanaud, drawing a chair close to her and patting herhand sympathetically. "Now, I want you to tell these gentlemen andmyself all that you know of this dreadful business. Take your time, mademoiselle! We are human. "

"But, monsieur, I know nothing, " she cried. "I was told that I might goto bed as soon as I had dressed Mlle. Celie for the seance. "

"Seance!" cried Ricardo, startled into speech. The picture of theAssembly Hall at Leamington was again before his mind. But Hanaudturned towards him, and, though Hanaud's face retained its benevolentexpression, there was a glitter in his eyes which sent the blood intoRicardo's face. 

"Did you speak again, M. Ricardo?" the detective asked. "No? I thoughtit was not possible. " He turned back to Helene Vauquier. "So Mlle. Celie practised seances. That is very strange. We will hear about them. Who knows what thread may lead us to the truth?"

Helene Vauquier shook her head. 

"Monsieur, it is not right that you should seek the truth from me. For, consider this! I cannot speak with justice of Mlle. Celie. No, Icannot! I did not like her. I was jealous--yes, jealous, Monsieur, youwant the truth--I hated her!" And the woman's face flushed and sheclenched her hand upon the arm of her chair. "Yes, I hated her. Howcould I help it?" she asked. 

"Why?" asked Hanaud gently. "Why could you not help it?"

Helene Vauquier leaned back again, her strength exhausted, and smiledlanguidly. 

"I will tell you. But remember it is a woman speaking to you, andthings which you will count silly and trivial mean very much to her. There was one night last June--only last June! To think of it! Solittle while ago there was no Mlle. Celie--" and, as Hanaud raised hishand, she said hurriedly, "Yes, yes; I will control myself. But tothink of Mme. Dauvray now!"

And thereupon she blurted out her story and explained to Mr. Ricardothe question which had so perplexed him: how a girl of so muchdistinction as Celia Harland came to be living with a woman of socommon a type as Mme. Dauvray. 

"Well, one night in June, " said Helene Vauquier, "madame went with aparty to supper at the Abbaye Restaurant in Montmartre. And she broughthome for the first time Mlle. Celie. But you should have seen her! Shehad on a little plaid skirt and a coat which was falling to pieces, andshe was starving--yes, starving. Madame told me the story that night asI undressed her. Mlle. Celie was there dancing amidst the tables for asupper with any one who would be kind enough to dance with her. "

The scorn of her voice rang through the room. She was the rigid, respectable peasant woman, speaking out her contempt. And Wethermillmust needs listen to it. Ricardo dared not glance at him. 

"But hardly any one would dance with her in her rags, and no one wouldgive her supper except madame. Madame did. Madame listened to her storyof hunger and distress. Madame believed it, and brought her home. Madame was so kind, so careless in her kindness. And now she liesmurdered for a reward!" An hysterical sob checked the woman'sutterances, her face began to work, her hands to twitch. 

"Come, come!" said Hanaud gently, "calm yourself, mademoiselle. "

Helene Vauquier paused for a moment or two to recover her composure. "Ibeg your pardon, monsieur, but I have been so long with madame--oh, thepoor woman! Yes, yes, I will calm myself. Well, madame brought herhome, and in a week there was nothing too good for Mlle. Celie. Madamewas like a child. Always she was being deceived and imposed upon. Nevershe learnt prudence. But no one so quickly made her way to madame'sheart as Mlle. Celie. Mademoiselle must live with her. Mademoisellemust be dressed by the first modistes. Mademoiselle must have lacepetticoats and the softest linen, long white gloves, and pretty ribbonsfor her hair, and hats from Caroline Reboux at twelve hundred francs. And madame's maid must attend upon her and deck her out in all thesedainty things. Bah!"

Vauquier was sitting erect in her chair, violent, almost rancorous withanger. She looked round upon the company and shrugged her shoulders. 

"I told you not to come to me!" she said, "I cannot speak impartially, or even gently of mademoiselle. Consider! For years I had been morethan madame's maid--her friend; yes, so she was kind enough to call me. She talked to me about everything, consulted me about everything, tookme with her everywhere. Then she brings home, at two o'clock in themorning, a young girl with a fresh, pretty face, from a Montmartrerestaurant, and in a week I am nothing at all--oh, but nothing--andmademoiselle is queen. "

"Yes, it is quite natural, " said Hanaud sympathetically. "You would nothave been human, mademoiselle, if you had not felt some anger. But tellus frankly about these seances. How did they begin?"

"Oh, monsieur, " Vauquier answered, "it was not difficult to begin them. Mme. Dauvray had a passion for fortune-tellers and rogues of that kind. Any one with a pack of cards and some nonsense about a dangerous womanwith black hair or a man with a limp--Monsieur knows the stories theystring together in dimly lighted rooms to deceive the credulous--anyone could make a harvest out of madame's superstitions. But monsieurknows the type. "

"Indeed I do, " said Hanaud, with a laugh. 

"Well, after mademoiselle had been with us three weeks, she said to meone morning when I was dressing her hair that it was a pity madame wasalways running round the fortune-tellers, that she herself could dosomething much more striking and impressive, and that if only I wouldhelp her we could rescue madame from their clutches. Sir, I did notthink what power I was putting into Mlle. Celie's hands, or assuredly Iwould have refused. And I did not wish to quarrel with Mlle. Celie; sofor once I consented, and, having once consented, I could neverafterwards refuse, for, if I had, mademoiselle would have made somefine excuse about the psychic influence not being en rapport, andmeanwhile would have had me sent away. While if I had confessed thetruth to madame, she would have been so angry that I had been a partyto tricking her that again I would have lost my place. And so theseances went on. "

"Yes, " said Hanaud. "I understand that your position was verydifficult. We shall not, I think, " and he turned to the Commissaireconfidently for corroboration of his words, "be disposed to blame you. "

"Certainly not, " said the Commissaire. "After all, life is not so easy. "

"Thus, then, the seances began, " said Hanaud, leaning forward with akeen interest. "This is a strange and curious story you are telling me, Mlle. Vauquier. Now, how were they conducted? How did you assist? Whatdid Mlle. Celie do? Rap on the tables in the dark and rattletambourines like that one with the knot of ribbons which hangs upon thewall of the salon?"

There was a gentle and inviting irony in Hanaud's tone. M. Ricardo wasdisappointed. Hanaud had after all not overlooked the tambourine. Without Ricardo's reason to notice it, he had none the less observed itand borne it in his memory. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Oh, monsieur, the tambourines and the rapping on the table!" criedHelene. "That was nothing--oh, but nothing at all. Mademoiselle Celiewould make spirits appear and speak!"

"Really! And she was never caught out! But Mlle. Celie must have been aremarkably clever girl. "

"Oh, she was of an address which was surprising. Sometimes madame and Iwere alone. Sometimes there were others, whom madame in her pride hadinvited. For she was very proud, monsieur, that her companion couldintroduce her to the spirits of dead people. But never was Mlle. Celiecaught out. She told me that for many years, even when quite a child, she had travelled through England giving these exhibitions. "

"Oho!" said Hanaud, and he turned to Wethermill. "Did you know that?"he asked in English. 

"I did not, " he said. "I do not now. "

Hanaud shook his head. 

"To me this story does not seem invented, " he replied. And then hespoke again in French to Helene Vauquier. "Well, continue, mademoiselle! Assume that the company is assembled for our seance. "

"Then Mlle. Celie, dressed in a long gown of black velvet, which setoff her white arms and shoulders well--oh, mademoiselle did not forgetthose little trifles, " Helene Vauquier interrupted her story, with areturn of her bitterness, to interpolate--"mademoiselle would sail intothe room with her velvet train flowing behind her, and perhaps for alittle while she would say there was a force working against her, andshe would sit silent in a chair while madame gaped at her with openeyes. At last mademoiselle would say that the powers were favourableand the spirits would manifest themselves to night. Then she would beplaced in a cabinet, perhaps with a string tied across the dooroutside--you will understand it was my business to see after thestring--and the lights would be turned down, or perhaps out altogether. Or at other times we would sit holding hands round a table, Mlle. Celiebetween Mme. Dauvray and myself. But in that case the lights would beturned out first, and it would be really my hand which held Mme. Dauvray's. And whether it was the cabinet or the chairs, in a momentmademoiselle would be creeping silently about the room in a little pairof soft-soled slippers without heels, which she wore so that she mightnot be heard, and tambourines would rattle as you say, and fingerstouch the forehead and the neck, and strange voices would sound fromcorners of the room, and dim apparitions would appear--the spirits ofgreat ladies of the past, who would talk with Mme. Dauvray. Such ladiesas Mme. De Castiglione, Marie Antoinette, Mme. De Medici--I do notremember all the names, and very likely I do not pronounce themproperly. Then the voices would cease and the lights be turned up, andMlle. Celie would be found in a trance just in the same place andattitude as she had been when the lights were turned out. Imagine, messieurs, the effect of such seances upon a woman like Mme. Dauvray. She was made for them. She believed in them implicitly. The words ofthe great ladies from the past--she would remember and repeat them, andbe very proud that such great ladies had come back to the world merelyto tell her--Mme. Dauvray--about their lives. She would have hadseances all day, but Mlle. Celie pleaded that she was left exhausted atthe end of them. But Mlle. Celie was of an address! For instance--itwill seem very absurd and ridiculous to you, gentlemen, but you mustremember what Mme. Dauvray was--for instance, madame was particularlyanxious to speak with the spirit of Mme. De Montespan. Yes, yes! Shehad read all the memoirs about that lady. Very likely Mlle. Celie hadput the notion into Mme. Dauvray's head, for madame was not a scholar. But she was dying to hear that famous woman's voice and to catch a dimglimpse of her face. Well, she was never gratified. Always she hoped. Always Mlle. Celie tantalised her with the hope. But she would notgratify it. She would not spoil her fine affairs by making these treatstoo common. And she acquired--how should she not?--a power over Mme. Dauvray which was unassailable. The fortune-tellers had no more to sayto Mme. Dauvray. She did nothing but felicitate herself upon the happychance which had sent her Mlle. Celie. And now she lies in her roommurdered!"

Once more Helene's voice broke upon the words. But Hanaud poured herout a glass of water and held it to her lips. Helene drank it eagerly. 

"There, that is better, is it not?" he said. 

"Yes, monsieur, " said Helene Vauquier, recovering herself. "Sometimes, too, " she resumed, "messages from the spirits would flutter down inwriting on the table. "

"In writing?" exclaimed Hanaud quickly. 

"Yes; answers to questions. Mlle. Celie had them ready. Oh, but she wasof an address altogether surprising. 

"I see, " said Hanaud slowly; and he added, "But sometimes, I suppose, the questions were questions which Mlle. Celie could not answer?"

"Sometimes, " Helene Vauquier admitted, "when visitors were present. When Mme. Dauvray was alone--well, she was an ignorant woman, and anyanswer would serve. But it was not so when there were visitors whomMlle. Celie did not know, or only knew slightly. These visitors mightbe putting questions to test her, of which they knew the answers, whileMlle. Celie did not. "

"Exactly, " said Hanaud. "What happened then?"

All who were listening understood to what point he was leading HeleneVauquier. All waited intently for her answer. 

She smiled. 

"It was all one to Mlle. Celie. "

"She was prepared with an escape from the difficulty?"

"Perfectly prepared. "

Hanaud looked puzzled. 

"I can think of no way out of it except the one, " and he looked roundto the Commissaire and to Ricardo as though he would inquire of themhow many ways they had discovered. "I can think of no escape exceptthat a message in writing should flutter down from the spirit appealedto saying frankly, " and Hanaud shrugged his shoulders, "'I do notknow. '"

"Oh no no, monsieur, " replied Helene Vauquier in pity for Hanaud'smisconception, "I see that you are not in the habit of attendingseances. It would never do for a spirit to admit that it did not know. At once its authority would be gone, and with it Mlle. Celie's as well. But on the other hand, for inscrutable reasons the spirit might not beallowed to answer. "

"I understand, " said Hanaud, meekly accepting the correction. "Thespirit might reply that it was forbidden to answer, but never that itdid not know. "

"No, never that, " [agreed] Helene. So it seemed that Hanaud must lookelsewhere for the explanation of that sentence. "I do not know. " Helenecontinued: "Oh, Mlle. Celie--it was not easy to baffle her, I can tellyou. She carried a lace scarf which she could drape about her head, andin a moment she would be, in the dim light, an old, old woman, with avoice so altered that no one could know it. Indeed, you said rightly, monsieur--she was clever. "

To all who listened Helene Vauquier's story carried its conviction. Mme. Dauvray rose vividly before their minds as a living woman. Celie'strickeries were so glibly described that they could hardly have beeninvented, and certainly not by this poor peasant-woman whose lips sobravely struggled with Medici, and Montespan, and the names of theother great ladies. How, indeed, should she know of them at all? Shecould never have had the inspiration to concoct the most convincingitem of her story--the queer craze of Mme. Dauvray for an interviewwith Mme. De Montespan. These details were assuredly the truth. 

Ricardo, indeed, knew them to be true. Had he not himself seen the girlin her black velvet dress shut up in a cabinet, and a great lady of thepast dimly appear in the darkness? Moreover, Helene Vauquier's jealousywas so natural and inevitable a thing. Her confession of itcorroborated all her story. 

"Well, then, " said Hanaud, "we come to last night. There was a seanceheld in the salon last night. "

"No, monsieur, " said Vauquier, shaking her head; "there was no seancelast night. "

"But already you have said--" interrupted the Commissaire; and Hanaudheld up his hand. 

"Let her speak, my friend. "

"Yes, monsieur shall hear, " said Vauquier. 

It appeared that at five o'clock in the afternoon Mme. Dauvray andMlle. Celie prepared to leave the house on foot. It was their custom towalk down at this hour to the Villa des Fleurs, pass an hour or sothere, dine in a restaurant, and return to the Rooms to spend theevening. On this occasion, however, Mme. Dauvray informed Helene thatthey should be back early and bring with them a friend who wasinterested in, but entirely sceptical of, spiritualisticmanifestations. "But we shall convince her tonight, Celie, " she saidconfidently; and the two women then went out. Shortly before eightHelene closed the shutters both of the upstair and the downstairwindows and of the glass doors into the garden, and returned to thekitchen, which was at the back of the house--that is, on the sidefacing the road. There had been a fall of rain at seven which hadlasted for the greater part of the hour, and soon after she had shutthe windows the rain fell again in a heavy shower, and Helene, knowingthat madame felt the chill, lighted a small fire in the salon. Theshower lasted until nearly nine, when it ceased altogether and thenight cleared up. 

It was close upon half-past nine when the bell rang from the salon. Vauquier was sure of the hour, for the charwoman called her attentionto the clock. 

"I found Mme. Dauvray, Mlle Celie, and another woman in the salon, "continued Helene Vauquier. 

"Madame had let them in with her latchkey. "

"Ah, the other woman!" cried Besnard. "Had you seen her before?"

"No, monsieur. "

"What was she like?"

"She was sallow, with black hair and bright eyes like beads. She wasshort and about forty-five years old, though it is difficult to judgeof these things. I noticed her hands, for she was taking her glovesoff, and they seemed to me to be unusually muscular for a woman. "

"Ah!" cried Louis Besnard. "That is important. "

"Mme. Dauvray was, as she always was before a seance, in a feverishflutter. 'You will help Mlle. Celie to dress, Helene, and be veryquick, ' she said; and with an extraordinary longing she added, 'Perhapswe shall see her tonight. ' Her, you understand, was Mme. De Montespan. "And she turned to the stranger and said, "You will believe, Adele, after tonight. "

"Adele!" said the Commissaire wisely. "Then Adele was the strangewoman's name?"

"Perhaps, " said Hanaud dryly. 

Helene Vauquier reflected. 

"I think Adele was the name, " she said in a more doubtful tone. "Itsounded like Adele. "

The irrepressible Mr. Ricardo was impelled to intervene. 

"What Monsieur Hanaud means, " he explained, with the pleasant air of aman happy to illuminate the dark intelligence of a child, "is thatAdele was probably a pseudonym. "

Hanaud turned to him with a savage grin. 

"Now that is sure to help her!" he cried. "A pseudonym! Helene Vauquieris sure to understand that simple and elementary word. How bright thisM. Ricardo is! Where shall we find a new pin more bright? I ask you, "and he spread out his hands in a despairing admiration. 

Mr. Ricardo flushed red, but he answered never a word. He must enduregibes and humiliations like a schoolboy in a class. His one constantfear was lest he should be turned out of the room. The Commissairediverted wrath from him however. 

"What he means by pseudonym, " he said to Helene Vauquier, explainingMr. Ricardo to her as Mr. Ricardo had presumed to explain Hanaud, "is afalse name. Adele may have been, nay, probably was, a false nameadopted by this strange woman. "

"Adele, I think, was the name used, " replied Helene, the doubt in hervoice diminishing as she searched her memory. "I am almost sure. "

"Well, we will call her Adele, " said Hanaud impatiently. "What does itmatter? Go on, Mademoiselle Vauquier. "

"The lady sat upright and squarely upon the edge of a chair, with asort of defiance, as though she was determined nothing should convinceher, and she laughed incredulously. "

Here, again, all who heard were able vividly to conjure up thescene--the defiant sceptic sitting squarely on the edge of her chair, removing her gloves from her muscular hands; the excited Mme. Dauvray, so absorbed in the determination to convince; and Mlle. Celie runningfrom the room to put on the black gown which would not be visible inthe dim light. 

"Whilst I took off mademoiselle's dress, " Vauquier continued, "shesaid: 'When I have gone down to the salon you can go to bed, Helene. Mme. Adele'--yes, it was Adele--'will be fetched by a friend in amotorcar, and I can let her out and fasten the door again. So if youhear the car you will know that it has come for her. '"

"Oh, she said that!" said Hanaud quickly. 

"Yes, monsieur. "

Hanaud looked gloomily towards Wethermill. Then he exchanged a sharpglance with the Commissaire, and moved his shoulders in an almostimperceptible shrug. But Mr. Ricardo saw it, and construed it into oneword. He imagined a jury uttering the word "Guilty. "

Helene Vauquier saw the movement too. 

"Do not condemn her too quickly, monsieur, " she, said, with an impulseof remorse. "And not upon my words. For, as I say, I--hated her. "

Hanaud nodded reassuringly, and she resumed:

"I was surprised, and I asked mademoiselle what she would do withouther confederate. But she laughed, and said there would be nodifficulty. That is partly why I think there was no seance held lastnight. Monsieur, there was a note in her voice that evening which I didnot as yet understand. Mademoiselle then took her bath while I laid outher black dress and the slippers with the soft, noiseless soles. Andnow I tell you why I am sure there was no seance last night--why Mlle. Celie never meant there should be one. "

"Yes, let us hear that, " said Hanaud curiously, and leaning forwardwith his hands upon his knees. 

"You have here, monsieur, a description of how mademoiselle was dressedwhen she went away. " Helene Vauquier picked up a sheet of paper fromthe table at her side. "I wrote it out at the request of M. LeCommissaire. " She handed the paper to Hanaud, who glanced through it asshe continued. "Well, except for the white lace coat, monsieur, Idressed Mlle. Celie just in that way. She would have none of her plainblack robe. No, Mlle. Celie must wear her fine new evening frock ofpale reseda-green chiffon over soft clinging satin, which set off herfair beauty so prettily. It left her white arms and shoulders bare, andit had a long train, and it rustled as she moved. And with that shemust put on her pale green silk stockings, her new little satinslippers to match, with the large paste buckles--and a sash of greensatin looped through another glittering buckle at the side of thewaist, with long ends loosely knotted together at the knee. I must tieher fair hair with a silver ribbon, and pin upon her curls a large hatof reseda green with a golden-brown ostrich feather drooping behind. Iwarned mademoiselle that there was a tiny fire burning in the salon. Even with the fire-screen in front of it there would still be a littlelight upon the floor, and the glittering buckles on her feet wouldbetray her, even if the rustle of her dress did not. But she said shewould kick her slippers off. Ah, gentlemen, it is, after all, not sothat one dresses for a seance, " she cried, shaking her head. "But it isjust so--is it not?--that one dresses to go to meet a lover. "

The suggestion startled every one who heard it. It fairly took Mr. Ricardo's breath away. Wethermill stepped forward with a cry of revolt. The Commissaire exclaimed, admiringly, "But here is an idea!" EvenHanaud sat back in his chair, though his expression lost nothing of itsimpassivity, and his eyes never moved from Helene Vauquier's face. 

"Listen!" she continued, "I will tell you what I think. It was my habitto put out some sirop and lemonade and some little cakes in thedining-room, which, as you know, is at the other side of the houseacross the hall. I think it possible, messieurs, that while Mlle. Celiewas changing her dress Mme. Dauvray and the stranger, Adele, went intothe dining-room. I know that Mlle. Celie, as soon as she was dressed, ran downstairs to the salon. Well, then, suppose Mlle. Celie had alover waiting with whom she meant to run away. She hurries through theempty salon, opens the glass doors, and is gone, leaving the doorsopen. And the thief, an accomplice of Adele, finds the doors open andhides himself in the salon until Mme. Dauvray returns from thedining-room. You see, that leaves Mlle. Celie innocent. "

Vauquier leaned forward eagerly, her white face flushing. There was amoment's silence, and then Hanaud said:

"That is all very well, Mlle. Vauquier. But it does not account for thelace coat in which the girl went away. She must have returned to herroom to fetch that after you had gone to bed. "

Helene Vauquier leaned back with an air of disappointment. 

"That is true. I had forgotten the coat. I did not like Mlle. Celie, but I am not wicked--"

"Nor for the fact that the sirop and the lemonade had not been touchedin the dining-room, " said the Commissaire, interrupting her. 

Again the disappointment overspread Vauquier's face. 

"Is that so?" she asked. "I did not know--I have been kept a prisonerhere. "

The Commissaire cut her short with a cry of satisfaction. 

"Listen! listen!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Here is a theory whichaccounts for all, which combines Vauquier's idea with ours, andVauquier's idea is, I think, very just, up to a point. Suppose, M. Hanaud, that the girl was going to meet her lover, but the lover is themurderer. Then all becomes clear. She does not run away to him; sheopens the door for him and lets him in. "

Both Hanaud and Ricardo stole a glance at Wethermill. How did he takethe theory? Wethermill was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, his face white and contorted with a spasm of pain. But he had the airof a man silently enduring an outrage rather than struck down by theconviction that the woman he loved was worthless. 

"It is not for me to say, monsieur, " Helene Vauquier continued. "I onlytell you what I know. I am a woman, and it would be very difficult fora girl who was eagerly expecting her lover so to act that another womanwould not know it. However uncultivated and ignorant the other womanwas, that at all events she would know. The knowledge would spread toher of itself, without a word. Consider, gentlemen!" And suddenlyHelene Vauquier smiled. "A young girl tingling with excitement fromhead to foot, eager that her beauty just at this moment should be morefresh, more sweet than ever it was, careful that her dress should setit exquisitely off. Imagine it! Her lips ready for the kiss! Oh, howshould another woman not know? I saw Mlle. Celie, her cheeks rosy, hereyes bright. Never had she looked so lovely. The pale-green hat uponher fair head heavy with its curls! From head to foot she lookedherself over, and then she sighed--she sighed with pleasure because shelooked so pretty. That was Mlle. Celie last night, monsieur. Shegathered up her train, took her long white gloves in the other hand, and ran down the stairs, her heels clicking on the wood, her bucklesglittering. At the bottom she turned and said to me:

"'Remember, Helene, you can go to bed. ' That was it monsieur. "

And now violently the rancour of Helene Vauquier's feelings burst outonce more. 

"For her the fine clothes, the pleasure, and the happiness. For me--Icould go to bed!"

Hanaud looked again at the description which Helene Vauquier hadwritten out, and read it through carefully. Then he asked a question, of which Ricardo did not quite see the drift. 

"So, " he said, "when this morning you suggested to Monsieur theCommissaire that it would be advisable for you to go through Mlle. Celie's wardrobe, you found that nothing more had been taken awayexcept the white lace coat?"

"That is so. "

"Very well. Now, after Mlle. Celie had gone down the stairs--"

"I put the lights out in her room and, as she had ordered me to do, Iwent to bed. The next thing that I remember--but no! It terrifies metoo much to think of it. "

Helene shuddered and covered her face spasmodically with her hands. Hanaud drew her hands gently down. 

"Courage! You are safe now, mademoiselle. Calm yourself!"

She lay back with her eyes closed. 

"Yes, yes; it is true. I am safe now. But oh! I feel I shall never dareto sleep again!" And the tears swam in her eyes. "I woke up with afeeling of being suffocated. Mon Dieu! There was the light burning inthe room, and a woman, the strange woman with the strong hands, washolding me down by the shoulders, while a man with his cap drawn overhis eyes and a little black moustache pressed over my lips a pad fromwhich a horribly sweet and sickly taste filled my mouth. Oh, I wasterrified! I could not scream. I struggled. The woman told me roughlyto keep quiet. But I could not. I must struggle. And then with abrutality unheard of she dragged me up on to my knees while the mankept the pad right over my mouth. The man, with the arm which was free, held me close to him, and she bound my hands with a cord behind me. Look!"

She held out her wrists. They were terribly bruised. Red and angrylines showed where the cord had cut deeply into her flesh. 

"Then they flung me down again upon my back, and the next thing Iremember is the doctor standing over me and this kind nurse supportingme. "

She sank back exhausted in her chair and wiped her forehead with herhandkerchief. The sweat stood upon it in beads. 

"Thank you, mademoiselle, " said Hanaud gravely. "This has been a tryingordeal for you. I understand that. But we are coming to the end. I wantyou to read this description of Mlle. Celie through again to make surethat nothing is omitted. " He gave the paper into the maid's hands. "Itwill be advertised, so it is important that it should be complete. Seethat you have left out nothing. "

Helene Vauquier bent her head over the paper. 

"No, " said Helene at last. "I do not think I have omitted anything. "And she handed the paper back. 

"I asked you, " Hanaud continued suavely, "because I understand thatMlle. Celie usually wore a pair of diamond ear-drops, and they are notmentioned here. "

A faint colour came into the maid's face. 

"That is true, monsieur. I had forgotten. It is quite true. "

"Any one might forget, " said Hanaud, with a reassuring smile. "But youwill remember now. Think! think! Did Mlle. Celie wear them last night?"He leaned forward, waiting for her reply. Wethermill too, made amovement. Both men evidently thought the point of great importance. Themaid looked at Hanaud for a few moments without speaking. 

"It is not from me, mademoiselle, that you will get the answer, " saidHanaud quietly. 

"No, monsieur. I was thinking, " said the maid, her face flushing at therebuke. 

"Did she wear them when she went down the stairs last night?" heinsisted. 

"I think she wore them, " she said doubtfully. "Ye-es--yes, " and thewords came now firm and clear. "I remember well. Mlle. Celie had takenthem off before her bath, and they lay on the dressing-table. She putthem into her ears while I dressed her hair and arranged the bow ofribbon in it. "

"Then we will add the earrings to your description, " said Hanaud, as herose from his chair with the paper in his hand, "and for the moment weneed not trouble you any more about Mademoiselle Celie. " He folded thepaper up, slipped it into his letter-case, and put it away in hispocket. "Let us consider that poor Madame Dauvray! Did she keep muchmoney in the house?"

"No, monsieur; very little. She was well known in Aix and her chequeswere everywhere accepted without question. It was a high pleasure toserve madame, her credit was so good, " said Helene Vauquier, raisingher head as though she herself had a share in the pride of that goodcredit. 

"No doubt, " Hanaud agreed. "There are many fine households where thebanking account is overdrawn, and it cannot be pleasant for theservants. "

"They are put to so many shifts to hide it from the servants of theirneighbours, " said Helene. "Besides, " and she made a little grimace ofcontempt, "a fine household and an overdrawn banking account--it islike a ragged petticoat under a satin dress. That was never the casewith Madame Dauvray. "

"So that she was under no necessity to have ready money always in herpocket, " said Hanaud. "I understand that. But at times perhaps she wonat the Villa des Fleurs?"

Helene Vauquier shook her head. 

"She loved the Villa des Fleurs, but she never played for high sums andoften never played at all. If she won a few louis, she was as delightedwith her gains and as afraid to lose them again at the tables as if shewere of the poorest, and she stopped at once. No, monsieur; twenty orthirty louis--there was never more than that in the house. "

"Then it was certainly for her famous collection of jewellery thatMadame Dauvray was murdered?"

"Certainly, monsieur. "

"Now, where did she keep her jewellery?"

"In a safe in her bedroom, monsieur. Every night she took off what shehad been wearing and locked it up with the rest. She was never tootired for that. "

"And what did she do with the keys?"

"That I cannot tell you. Certainly she locked her rings and necklacesaway whilst I undressed her. And she laid the keys upon thedressing-table or the mantel-shelf--anywhere. But in the morning thekeys were no longer where she had left them. She had put them secretlyaway. "

Hanaud turned to another point. 

"I suppose that Mademoiselle Celie knew of the safe and that the jewelswere kept there?"

"Oh yes! Mademoiselle indeed was often in Madame Dauvray's room whenshe was dressing or undressing. She must often have seen madame takethem out and lock them up again. But then, monsieur, so did I. "

Hanaud nodded to her with a friendly smile. 

"Thank you once more, mademoiselle, " he said. "The torture is over. Butof course Monsieur Fleuriot will require your presence. "

Helene Vauquier looked anxiously towards him. 

"But meanwhile I can go from this villa, monsieur?" she pleaded, with atrembling voice. 

"Certainly; you shall go to your friends at once. "

"Oh, monsieur, thank you!" she cried, and suddenly she gave way. Thetears began to flow from her eyes. She buried her face in her hands andsobbed. "It is foolish of me, but what would you?" She jerked out thewords between her sobs. "It has been too terrible. "

"Yes, yes, " said Hanaud soothingly. "The nurse will put a few thingstogether for you in a bag. You will not leave Aix, of course, and Iwill send some one with you to your friends. "

The maid started violently. 

"Oh, not a sergent-de-ville, monsieur, I beg of you. I should bedisgraced. "

"No. It shall be a man in plain clothes, to see that you are nothindered by reporters on the way. "

Hanaud turned towards the door. On the dressing-table a cord was lying. He took it up and spoke to the nurse. 

"Was this the cord with which Helene Vauquier's hands were tied?"

"Yes, monsieur, " she replied. 

Hanaud handed it to the Commissaire. 

"It will be necessary to keep that, " he said. 

It was a thin piece of strong whipcord. It was the same kind of cord asthat which had been found tied round Mme. Dauvray's throat. Hanaudopened the door and turned back to the nurse. 

"We will send for a cab for Mlle. Vauquier. You will drive with her toher door. I think after that she will need no further help. Pack up afew things and bring them down. Mlle. Vauquier can follow, no doubt, now without assistance. " And, with a friendly nod, he left the room. 

Ricardo had been wondering, through the examination, in what lightHanaud considered Helene Vauquier. He was sympathetic, but the sympathymight merely have been assumed to deceive. His questions betrayed in noparticular the colour of his mind. Now, however, he made himself clear. He informed the nurse, in the plainest possible way, that she was nolonger to act as jailer. She was to bring Vauquier's things down; butVauquier could follow by herself. Evidently Helene Vauquier was cleared. 

CHAPTER VII

A STARTLING DISCOVERY

Harry Wethermill, however, was not so easily satisfied. 

"Surely, monsieur, it would be well to know whither she is going, " hesaid, "and to make sure that when she has gone there she will staythere--until we want her again?"

Hanaud looked at the young man pityingly. 

"I can understand, monsieur, that you hold strong views about HeleneVauquier. You are human, like the rest of us. And what she has said tous just now would not make you more friendly. But--but--" and hepreferred to shrug his shoulders rather than to finish in words hissentence. "However, " he said, "we shall take care to know where HeleneVauquier is staying. Indeed, if she is at all implicated in this affairwe shall learn more if we leave her free than if we keep her under lockand key. You see that if we leave her quite free, but watch her very, very carefully, so as to awaken no suspicion, she may be emboldened todo something rash--or the others may. "

Mr. Ricardo approved of Hanaud's reasoning. 

"That is quite true, " he said. "She might write a letter. "

"Yes, or receive one, " added Hanaud, "which would be still moresatisfactory for us--supposing, of course, that she has anything to dowith this affair"; and again he shrugged his shoulders. He turnedtowards the Commissaire. 

"You have a discreet officer whom you can trust?" he asked. 

"Certainly. A dozen. "

"I want only one. "

"And here he is, " said the Commissaire. 

They were descending the stairs. On the landing of the first floorDurette, the man who had discovered where the cord was bought, wasstill waiting. Hanaud took Durette by the sleeve in the familiar waywhich he so commonly used and led him to the top of the stairs, wherethe two men stood for a few moments apart. It was plain that Hanaud wasgiving, Durette receiving, definite instructions. Durette descended thestairs; Hanaud came back to the others. 

"I have told him to fetch a cab, " he said, "and convey Helene Vauquierto her friends. " Then he looked at Ricardo, and from Ricardo to theCommissaire, while he rubbed his hand backwards and forwards across hisshaven chin. 

"I tell you, " he said, "I find this sinister little drama veryinteresting to me. The sordid, miserable struggle for mastery in thishousehold of Mme. Dauvray--eh? Yes, very interesting. Just as muchpatience, just as much effort, just as much planning for this small endas a general uses to defeat an army--and, at the last, nothing gained. What else is politics? Yes, very interesting. "

His eyes rested upon Wethermill's face for a moment, but they gave theyoung man no hope. He took a key from his pocket. 

"We need not keep this room locked, " he said. "We know all that thereis to be known. " And he inserted the key into the lock of Celia's roomand turned it. 

"But is that wise, monsieur?" said Besnard. 

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders. 

"Why not?" he asked. 

"The case is in your hands, " said the Commissaire. To Ricardo theproceedings seemed singularly irregular. But if the Commissaire wascontent, it was not for him to object. 

"And where is my excellent friend Perrichet?" asked Hanaud; and leaningover the balustrade he called him up from the hall. 

"We will now, " said Hanaud, "have a glance into this poor murderedwoman's room. "

The room was opposite to Celia's. Besnard produced the key and unlockedthe door. Hanaud took off his hat upon the threshold and then passedinto the room with his companions. Upon the bed, outlined under asheet, lay the rigid form of Mme. Dauvray. Hanaud stepped gently to thebedside and reverently uncovered the face. For a moment all could seeit--livid, swollen, unhuman. 

"A brutal business, " he said in a low voice, and when he turned againto his companions his face was white and sickly. He replaced the sheetand gazed about the room. 

It was decorated and furnished in the same style as the salondownstairs, yet the contrast between the two rooms was remarkable. 

Downstairs, in the salon, only a chair had been overturned. Here therewas every sign of violence and disorder. An empty safe stood open inone corner; the rugs upon the polished floor had been tossed aside;every drawer had been torn open, every wardrobe burst; the very bed hadbeen moved from its position. 

"It was in this safe that Madame Dauvray hid her jewels each night, "said the Commissaire as Hanaud gazed about the room. 

"Oh, was it so?" Hanaud asked slowly. It seemed to Ricardo that he readsomething in the aspect of this room too, which troubled his mind andincreased his perplexity. 

"Yes, " said Besnard confidently. "Every night Mme. Dauvray locked herjewels away in this safe. Vauquier told us so this morning. Every nightshe was never too tired for that. Besides, here"--and putting his handinto the safe he drew out a paper--"here is the list of Mme. Dauvray'sjewellery. "

Plainly, however, Hanaud was not satisfied. He took the list andglanced through the items. But his thoughts were not concerned with it. 

"If that is so, " he said slowly, "Mme Dauvray kept her jewels in thissafe, why has every drawer been ransacked, why was the bed moved?Perrichet, lock the door--quietly--from the inside. That is right. Nowlean your back against it. "

Hanaud waited until he saw Perrichet's broad back against the door. Then he went down upon his knees, and, tossing the rugs here and there, examined with the minutest care the inlaid floor. By the side of thebed a Persian mat of blue silk was spread. This in its turn he movedquickly aside. He bent his eyes to the ground, lay prone, moved thisway and that to catch the light upon the floor, then with a spring herose upon his knees. He lifted his finger to his lips. In a deadsilence he drew a pen-knife quickly from his pocket and opened it. Hebent down again and inserted the blade between the cracks of theblocks. The three men in the room watched him with an intenseexcitement. A block of wood rose from the floor, he pulled it out, laidit noiselessly down, and inserted his hand into the opening. 

Wethermill at Ricardo's elbow uttered a stifled cry. "Hush!" whisperedHanaud angrily. He drew out his hand again. It was holding a greenleather jewel-case. He opened it, and a diamond necklace flashed itsthousand colours in their faces. He thrust in his hand again and againand again, and each time that be withdrew it, it held a jewel-case. Before the astonished eyes of his companions he opened them. Ropes ofpearls, collars of diamonds, necklaces of emeralds, rings ofpigeon-blood rubies, bracelets of gold studded with opals-Mme. Dauvray's various jewellery was disclosed. 

"But that is astounding, " said Besnard, in an awe-struck voice. 

"Then she was never robbed after all?" cried Ricardo. 

Hanaud rose to his feet. 

"What a piece of irony!" he whispered. "The poor woman is murdered forher jewels, the room's turned upside down, and nothing is found. Forall the while they lay safe in this cache. Nothing is taken except whatshe wore. Let us see what she wore. "

"Only a few rings, Helene Vauquier thought, " said Besnard. "But she wasnot sure. "

"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Well, let us make sure!" and, taking the list fromthe safe, he compared it with the jewellery in the cases on the floor, ticking off the items one by one. When he had finished he knelt downagain, and, thrusting his hand into the hole, felt carefully about. 

"There is a pearl necklace missing, " he said. "A valuable necklace, from the description in the list and some rings. She must have beenwearing them;" and he sat back upon his heels. "We will send theintelligent Perrichet for a bag, " he said, "and we will counsel theintelligent Perrichet not to breathe a word to any living soul of whathe has seen in this room. Then we will seal up in the bag the jewels, and we will hand it over to M. Le Commissaire, who will convey it withthe greatest secrecy out of this villa. For the list--I will keep it, "and he placed it carefully in his pocket-book. 

He unlocked the door and went out himself on to the landing. He lookeddown the stairs and up the stairs; then he beckoned Perrichet to him. 

"Go!" he whispered. "Be quick, and when you come back hide the bagcarefully under your coat. "

Perrichet went down the stairs with pride written upon his face. Was henot assisting the great M. Hanaud from the Surete in Paris? Hanaudreturned into Mme. Dauvray's room and closed the door. He looked intothe eyes of his companions. 

"Can't you see the scene?" he asked with a queer smile of excitement. He had forgotten Wethermill; he had forgotten even the dead womanshrouded beneath the sheet. He was absorbed. His eyes were bright, hiswhole face vivid with life. Ricardo saw the real man at thismoment--and feared for the happiness of Harry Wethermill. For nothingwould Hanaud now turn aside until he had reached the truth and set hishands upon the quarry. Of that Ricardo felt sure. He was trying now tomake his companions visualise just what he saw and understood. 

"Can't you see it? The old woman locking up her jewels in this safeevery night before the eyes of her maid or her companion, and then, assoon as she was alone, taking them stealthily out of the safe andhiding them in this secret place. But I tell you--this is human. Yes, it is interesting just because it is so human. Then picture toyourselves last night, the murderers opening this safe and findingnothing--oh, but nothing!--and ransacking the room in deadly haste, kicking up the rugs, forcing open the drawers, and always findingnothing--nothing--nothing. Think of their rage, their stupefaction, andfinally their fear! They must go, and with one pearl necklace, whenthey had hoped to reap a great fortune. Oh, but this isinteresting--yes, I tell you--I, who have seen many strangethings--this is interesting. "

Perrichet returned with a canvas bag, into which Hanaud placed thejewel-cases. He sealed the bag in the presence of the four men andhanded it to Besnard. He replaced the block of wood in the floor, covered it over again with the rug, and rose to his feet. 

"Listen!" he said, in a low voice, and with a gravity which impressedthem all. "There is something in this house which I do not understand. I have told you so. I tell you something more now. I am afraid--I amafraid. " And the word startled his hearers like a thunderclap, thoughit was breathed no louder than a whisper, "Yes, my friends, " herepeated, nodding his head, "terribly afraid. " And upon the others fella discomfort, an awe, as though something sinister and dangerous werepresent in the room and close to them. So vivid was the feeling, instinctively they drew nearer together. "Now, I warn you solemnly. There must be no whisper that these jewels have been discovered; nonewspaper must publish a hint of it; no one must suspect that here inthis room we have found them. Is that understood?"

"Certainly, " said the Commissaire. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Ricardo. 

"To be sure, monsieur, " said Perrichet. 

As for Harry Wethermill, he made no reply. His burning eyes were fixedupon Hanaud's face, and that was all. Hanaud, for his part, asked forno reply from him. Indeed, he did not look towards Harry Wethermill'sface at all. Ricardo understood. Hanaud did not mean to be deterred bythe suffering written there. 

He went down again into the little gay salon lit with flowers andAugust sunlight, and stood beside the couch gazing at it with troubledeyes. And, as he gazed, he closed his eyes and shivered. He shiveredlike a man who has taken a sudden chill. Nothing in all this morning'sinvestigations, not even the rigid body beneath the sheet, nor thestrange discovery of the jewels, had so impressed Ricardo. For there hehad been confronted with facts, definite and complete; here was asuggestion of unknown horrors, a hint, not a fact, compelling theimagination to dark conjecture. Hanaud shivered. That he had no ideawhy Hanaud shivered made the action still more significant, still morealarming. And it was not Ricardo alone who was moved by it. A voice ofdespair rang through the room. The voice was Harry Wethermill's, andhis face was ashy white. 

"Monsieur!" he cried, "I do not know what makes you shudder; but I amremembering a few words you used this morning. "

Hanaud turned upon his heel. His face was drawn and grey and his eyesblazed. 

"My friend, I also am remembering those words, " he said. Thus the twomen stood confronting one another, eye to eye, with awe and fear inboth their faces. 

Ricardo was wondering to what words they both referred, when the soundof wheels broke in upon the silence. The effect upon Hanaud wasmagical. He thrust his hands in his pockets. 

"Helene Vauquier's cab, " he said lightly. He drew out hiscigarette-case and lighted a cigarette. 

"Let us see that poor woman safely off. It is a closed cab I hope. "

It was a closed landau. It drove past the open door of the salon to thefront door of the house. In Hanaud's wake they all went out into thehall. The nurse came down alone carrying Helene Vauquier's bag. Sheplaced it in the cab and waited in the doorway. 

"Perhaps Helene Vauquier has fainted, " she said anxiously: "she doesnot come. " And she moved towards the stairs. 

Hanaud took a singularly swift step forward and stopped her. 

"Why should you think that?" he asked, with a queer smile upon hisface, and as he spoke a door closed gently upstairs. "See, " hecontinued, "you are wrong: she is coming. "

Ricardo was puzzled. It had seemed to him that the door which hadclosed so gently was nearer than Helene Vauquier's door. It seemed tohim that the door was upon the first, not the second landing. ButHanaud had noticed nothing strange; so it could not be. He greetedHelene Vauquier with a smile as she came down the stairs. 

"You are better, mademoiselle, " he said politely. 

"One can see that. There is more colour in your cheeks. A day or two, and you will be yourself again. "

He held the door open while she got into the cab. The nurse took herseat beside her; Durette mounted on the box. The cab turned and wentdown the drive. 

"Goodbye, mademoiselle, " cried Hanaud, and he watched until the highshrubs hid the cab from his eyes. Then he behaved in an extraordinaryway. He turned and sprang like lightning up the stairs. His agilityamazed Ricardo. The others followed upon his heels. He flung himself atCelia's door and opened it He burst into the room, stood for a second, then ran to the window. He hid behind the curtain, looking out. Withhis hand he waved to his companions to keep back. The sound of wheelscreaking and rasping rose to their ears. The cab had just come out intothe road. Durette upon the box turned and looked towards the house. Just for a moment Hanaud leaned from the window, as Besnard, theCommissaire, had done, and, like Besnard again, he waved his hand. Thenhe came back into the room and saw, standing in front of him, with hismouth open and his eyes starting out of his head, Perrichet--theintelligent Perrichet. 

"Monsieur, " cried Perrichet, "something has been taken from this room. "

Hanaud looked round the room and shook his head. 

"No, " he said. 

"But yes, monsieur, " Perrichet insisted. "Oh, but yes. See! Upon thisdressing-table there was a small pot of cold cream. It stood here, where my finger is, when we were in this room an hour ago. Now it isgone. "

Hanaud burst into a laugh. 

"My friend Perrichet, " he said ironically, "I will tell you thenewspaper did not do you justice. You are more intelligent. The truth, my excellent friend, lies at the bottom of a well; but you would findit at the bottom of a pot of cold cream. Now let us go. For in thishouse, gentlemen, we have nothing more to do. "

He passed out of the room. Perrichet stood aside, his face crimson, hisattitude one of shame. He had been rebuked by the great M. Hanaud, andjustly rebuked. He knew it now. He had wished to display hisintelligence--yes, at all costs he must show how intelligent he was. And he had shown himself a fool. He should have kept silence about thatpot of cream. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE CAPTAIN OF THE SHIP

Hanaud walked away from the Villa Rose in the company of Wethermill andRicardo. 

"We will go and lunch, " he said. 

"Yes; come to my hotel, " said Harry Wethermill. But Hanaud shook hishead. 

"No; come with me to the Villa des Fleurs, " he replied. "We may learnsomething there; and in a case like this every minute is of importance. We have to be quick. "

"I may come too?" cried Mr. Ricardo eagerly. 

"By all means, " replied Hanaud, with a smile of extreme courtesy. "Nothing could be more delicious than monsieur's suggestions"; and withthat remark he walked on silently. 

Mr. Ricardo was in a little doubt as to the exact significance of thewords. But he was too excited to dwell long upon them. Distressedthough he sought to be at his friend's grief, he could not but assumean air of importance. All the artist in him rose joyfully to theoccasion. He looked upon himself from the outside. He fancied withoutthe slightest justification that people were pointing him out. "Thatman has been present at the investigation at the Villa Rose, " he seemedto hear people say. "What strange things he could tell us if he would!"

And suddenly, Mr. Ricardo began to reflect. What, after all, could hehave told them?

And that question he turned over in his mind while he ate his luncheon. Hanaud wrote a letter between the courses. They were sitting at acorner table, and Hanaud was in the corner with his back to the wall. He moved his plate, too, over the letter as he wrote it. It would havebeen impossible for either of his guests to see what he had written, even if they had wished. Ricardo, indeed, did wish. He rather resentedthe secrecy with which the detective, under a show of openness, shrouded his thoughts and acts. Hanaud sent the waiter out to fetch anofficer in plain clothes, who was in attendance at the door, and hehanded the letter to this man. Then he turned with an apology to hisguests. 

"It is necessary that we should find out, " he explained, "as soon aspossible, the whole record of Mlle. Celie. "

He lighted a cigar, and over the coffee he put a question to Ricardo. 

"Now tell me what you make of the case. What M. Wethermill thinks--thatis clear, is it not? Helene Vauquier is the guilty one. But you, M. Ricardo? What is your opinion?"

Ricardo took from his pocket-book a sheet of paper and from his pocketa pencil. He was intensely flattered by the request of Hanaud, and heproposed to do himself justice. "I will make a note here of what Ithink the salient features of the mystery"; and he proceeded totabulate the points in the following way:

(1) Celia Harland made her entrance into Mme. Dauvray's household undervery doubtful circumstances. 

(2) By methods still more doubtful she acquired an extraordinaryascendency over Mme. Dauvray's mind. 

(3) If proof were needed how complete that ascendency was, a glance atCelia Harland's wardrobe would suffice; for she wore the most expensiveclothes. 

(4) It was Celia Harland who arranged that Servettaz, the chauffeur, should be absent at Chambery on the Tuesday night--the night of themurder. 

(5) It was Celia Harland who bought the cord with which Mme. Dauvraywas strangled and Helene Vauquier bound. 

(6) The footsteps outside the salon show that Celia Harland ran fromthe salon to the motor-car. 

(7) Celia Harland pretended that there should be a seance on theTuesday, but she dressed as though she had in view an appointment witha lover, instead of a spiritualistic stance. 

(8) Celia Harland has disappeared. 

These eight points are strongly suggestive of Celia Harland'scomplicity in the murder. But I have no clue which will enable me toanswer the following questions:

(a) Who was the man who took part in the crime? (b) Who was the womanwho came to the villa on the evening of the murder with Mme. Dauvrayand Celia Harland?

(c) What actually happened in the salon? How was the murder committed?

(d) Is Helene Vauquier's story true?

(e) What did the torn-up scrap of writing mean? (Probably spiritwriting in Celia Harland's hand. )

(f) Why has one cushion on the settee a small, fresh, brown stain, which is probably blood? Why is the other cushion torn?

Mr. Ricardo had a momentary thought of putting down yet anotherquestion. He was inclined to ask whether or no a pot of cold cream haddisappeared from Celia Harland's bedroom; but he remembered that Hanaudhad set no store upon that incident, and he refrained. Moreover, he hadcome to the end of his sheet of paper. He handed it across the table toHanaud and leaned back in his chair, watching the detective with allthe eagerness of a young author submitting his first effort to a critic. 

Hanaud read it through slowly. At the end he nodded his head inapproval. 

"Now we will see what M. Wethermill has to say, " he said, and hestretched out the paper towards Harry Wethermill, who throughout theluncheon had not said a word. 

"No, no, " cried Ricardo. 

But Harry Wethermill already held the written sheet in his hand. Hesmiled rather wistfully at his friend. 

"It is best that I should know just what you both think, " he said, andin his turn he began to read the paper through. He read the first eightpoints, and then beat with his fist upon the table. 

"No no, " he cried; "it is not possible! I don't blame you, Ricardo. These are facts, and, as I said, I can face facts. But there will be anexplanation--if only we can discover it. "

He buried his face for a moment in his hands. Then he took up the paperagain. 

"As for the rest, Helene Vauquier lied, " he cried violently, and hetossed the paper to Hanaud. "What do you make of it?"

Hanaud smiled and shook his head. 

"Did you ever go for a voyage on a ship?" he asked. 

"Yes; why?"

"Because every day at noon three officers take an observation todetermine the ship's position--the captain, the first officer, and thesecond officer. Each writes his observation down, and the captain takesthe three observations and compares them. If the first or secondofficer is out in his reckoning, the captain tells him so, but he doesnot show his own. For at times, no doubt, he is wrong too. So, gentlemen, I criticise your observations, but I do not show you mine. "

He took up Ricardo's paper and read it through again. 

"Yes, " he said pleasantly. "But the two questions which are mostimportant, which alone can lead us to the truth--how do they come to beomitted from your list, Mr. Ricardo?"

Hanaud put the question with his most serious air. But Ricardo was nonethe less sensible of the raillery behind the solemn manner. He flushedand made no answer. 

"Still, " continued Hanaud, "here are undoubtedly some questions. Let usconsider them! Who was the man who took a part in the crime? Ah, if weonly knew that, what a lot of trouble we should save ourselves! Who wasthe woman? What a good thing it would be to know that too! How clearly, after all, Mr. Ricardo puts his finger on the important points! Whatdid actually happen in the salon?" And as he quoted that question theraillery died out of his voice. He leaned his elbows on the table andbent forward. 

"What did actually happen in that little pretty room, just twelve hoursago?" he repeated. "When no sunlight blazed upon the lawn, and all thebirds were still, and all the windows shuttered and the world dark, what happened? What dreadful things happened? We have not much to goupon. Let us formulate what we know. We start with this. The murder wasnot the work of a moment. It was planned with great care and cunning, and carried out to the letter of the plan. There must be no noise, noviolence. On each side of the Villa Rose there are other villas; a fewyards away the road runs past. A scream, a cry, the noise of astruggle--these sounds, or any one of them, might be fatal to success. Thus the crime was planned; and there WAS no scream, there WAS nostruggle. Not a chair was broken, and only a chair upset. Yes, therewere brains behind that murder. We know that. But what do we know ofthe plan? How far can we build it up? Let us see. First, there was anaccomplice in the house--perhaps two. "

"No!" cried Harry Wethermill. 

Hanaud took no notice of the interruption. 

"Secondly the woman came to the house with Mme. Dauvray and Mlle. Celiebetween nine and half-past nine. Thirdly, the man came afterwards, butbefore eleven, set open the gate, and was admitted into the salon, unperceived by Mme. Dauvray. That also we can safely assume. But whathappened in the salon? Ah! There is the question. " Then he shrugged hisshoulders and said with the note of raillery once more in his voice:

"But why should we trouble our heads to puzzle out this mystery, sinceM. Ricardo knows?"

"I?" cried Ricardo in amazement. 

"To be sure, " replied Hanaud calmly. "For I look at another of yourquestions. 'WHAT DID THE TORN-UP SCRAP OF WRITING MEAN?' and you add:'Probably spirit-writing. ' Then there was a seance held last night inthe little salon! Is that so?"

Harry Wethermill started. Mr. Ricardo was at a loss. 

"I had not followed my suggestion to its conclusion, " he admittedhumbly. 

"No, " said Hanaud. "But I ask myself in sober earnest, 'Was there aseance held in the salon last night?' Did the tambourine rattle in thedarkness on the wall?"

"But if Helene Vauquier's story is all untrue?" cried Wethermill, againin exasperation. 

"Patience, my friend. Her story was not all untrue. I say there werebrains behind this crime; yes, but brains, even the cleverest, wouldnot have invented this queer, strange story of the seances and of Mme. De Montespan. That is truth. But yet, if there were a seance held, ifthe scrap of paper were spirit-writing in answer to some awkwardquestion, why--and here I come to my first question, which M. Ricardohas omitted--why did Mlle. Celie dress herself with so much elegancelast night? What Vauquier said is true. Her dress was not suited to aseance. A light-coloured, rustling frock, which would be visible in adim light, or even in the dark, which would certainly be heard at everymovement she made, however lightly she stepped, and a big hat--no no! Itell you, gentlemen, we shall not get to the bottom of this mysteryuntil we know why Mlle. Celie dressed herself as she did last night. ""Yes, " Ricardo admitted. "I overlooked that point. " "Did she--" Hanaudbroke off and bowed to Wethermill with a grace and a respect whichcondoned his words. "You must bear with me, my young friend, while Iconsider all these points. Did she expect to join that night a lover--aman with the brains to devise this crime? But if so--and here I come tothe second question omitted from M. Ricardo's list--why, on the patchof grass outside the door of the salon, were the footsteps of the manand woman so carefully erased, and the footsteps of Mlle. Celie--thoselittle footsteps so easily identified--left for all the world to seeand recognise?"

Ricardo felt like a child in the presence of his schoolmaster. He wasconvicted of presumption. He had set down his questions with the beliefthat they covered the ground. And here were two of the utmostimportance, not forgotten, but never even thought of. 

"Did she go, before the murder, to join a lover? Or after it? At sometime, you will remember, according to Vauquier's story, she must haverun upstairs to fetch her coat. Was the murder committed during theinterval when she was upstairs? Was the salon dark when she came downagain? Did she run through it quickly, eagerly, noticing nothing amiss?And, indeed, how should she notice anything if the salon were dark, andMme. Dauvray's body lay under the windows at the side?"

Ricardo leaned forward eagerly. 

"That must be the truth, " he cried; and Wethermill's voice brokehastily in:

"It is not the truth and I will tell you why. Celia Harland was to havemarried me this week. "

There was so much pain and misery in his voice that Ricardo was movedas he had seldom been. Wethermill buried his face in his hands. Hanaudshook his head and gazed across the table at Ricardo with an expressionwhich the latter was at no loss to understand. Lovers wereimpracticable people. But he--Hanaud--he knew the world. Women hadfooled men before today. 

Wethermill snatched his hands away from before his face. 

"We talk theories, " he cried desperately, "of what may have happened atthe villa. But we are not by one inch nearer to the man and woman whocommitted the crime. It is for them we have to search. "

"Yes; but except by asking ourselves questions, how shall we find them, M. Wethermill?" said Hanaud. "Take the man! We know nothing of him. Hehas left no trace. Look at this town of Aix, where people come and golike a crowd about the baccarat-table! He may be at Marseilles today. He may be in this very room where we are taking our luncheon. How shallwe find him?"

Wethermill nodded his head in a despairing assent. 

"I know. But it is so hard to sit still and do nothing, " he cried. 

"Yes, but we are not sitting still, " said Hanaud; and Wethermill lookedup with a sudden interest. "All the time that we have been lunchinghere the intelligent Perrichet has been making inquiries. Mme. Dauvrayand Mlle. Celie left the Villa Rose at five, and returned on foot soonafter nine with the strange woman. And there I see Perrichet himselfwaiting to be summoned. "

Hanaud beckoned towards the sergent-de-ville. 

"Perrichet will make an excellent detective, " he said; "for he looksmore bovine and foolish in plain clothes than he does in uniform. "

Perrichet advanced in his mufti to the table. 

"Speak, my friend, " said Hanaud. 

"I went to the shop of M. Corval. Mlle. Celie was quite alone when shebought the cord. But a few minutes later, in the Rue du Casino, she andMme. Dauvray were seen together, walking slowly in the direction of thevilla. No other woman was with them. "

"That is a pity, " said Hanaud quietly, and with a gesture he dismissedPerrichet. 

"You see, we shall find out nothing--nothing, " said Wethermill, with agroan. 

"We must not yet lose heart, for we know a little more about the womanthan we do about the man, " said Hanaud consolingly. 

"True, " exclaimed Ricardo. "We have Helene Vauquier's description ofher. We must advertise it. "

Hanaud smiled. 

"But that is a fine suggestion, " he cried. "We must think over that, "and he clapped his hand to his forehead with a gesture ofself-reproach. "Why did not such a fine idea occur to me, fool that Iam! However, we will call the head waiter. "

The head waiter was sent for and appeared before them. 

"You knew Mme. Dauvray?" Hanaud asked. 

"Yes, monsieur--oh, the poor woman! And he flung up his hands. 

"And you knew her young companion?"

"Oh yes, monsieur. They generally had their meals here. See, at thatlittle table over there! I kept it for them. But monsieur knowswell"--and the waiter looked towards Harry Wethermill--"for monsieurwas often with them. "

"Yes, " said Hanaud. "Did Mme. Dauvray dine at that little table lastnight?"

"No, monsieur. She was not here last night. "

"Nor Mlle. Celie?"

"No, monsieur! I do not think they were in the Villa des Fleurs at all. "

"We know they were not, " exclaimed Ricardo. "Wethermill and I were inthe rooms and we did not see them. "

"But perhaps you left early, " objected Hanaud. 

"No, " said Ricardo. "It was just ten o'clock when we reached theMajestic. "

"You reached your hotel at ten, " Hanaud repeated. "Did you walkstraight from here?"

"Yes. "

"Then you left here about a quarter to ten. And we know that Mme. Dauvray was back at the villa soon after nine. Yes--they could not havebeen here last night, " Hanaud agreed, and sat for a moment silent. Thenhe turned to the head waiter. 

"Have you noticed any woman with Mme. Dauvray and her companion lately?"

"No, monsieur. I do not think so. "

"Think! A woman, for instance, with red hair. "

Harry Wethermill started forward. Mr. Ricardo stared at Hanaud inamazement. The waiter reflected. 

"No, monsieur. I have seen no woman with red hair. "

"Thank you, " said Hanaud, and the waiter moved away. 

"A woman with red hair!" cried Wethermill. "But Helene Vauquierdescribed her. She was sallow; her eyes, her hair, were dark. "

Hanaud turned with a smile to Harry Wethermill. 

"Did Helene Vauquier, then, speak the truth?" he asked. "No; the womanwho was in the salon last night, who returned home with Mme. Dauvrayand Mlle. Celie, was not a woman with black hair and bright black eyes. Look!" And, fetching his pocket-book from his pocket, he unfolded asheet of paper and showed them, lying upon its white surface a long redhair. 

"I picked that up on the table-the round satinwood table in the salon. It was easy not to see it, but I did see it. Now, that is not Mlle. Celie's hair, which is fair; nor Mme. Dauvray's, which is dyed brown;nor Helene Vauquier's, which is black; nor the charwoman's, which, as Ihave taken the trouble to find out, is grey. It is therefore from thehead of our unknown woman. And I will tell you more. This woman withthe red hair--she is in Geneva. "

A startled exclamation burst from Ricardo. Harry Wethermill sat slowlydown. For the first time that day there had come some colour into hischeeks, a sparkle into his eye. 

"But that is wonderful!" he cried. "How did you find that out?"

Hanaud leaned back in his chair and took a pull at his cigar. He wasobviously pleased with Wethermill's admiration. 

"Yes, how did you find it out?" Ricardo repeated. 

Hanaud smiled. 

"As to that, " he said, "remember I am the captain of the ship, and I donot show you my observation. " Ricardo was disappointed. HarryWethermill, however, started to his feet. 

"We must search Geneva, then, " he cried. "It is there that we shouldbe, not here drinking our coffee at the Villa des Fleurs. "

Hanaud raised his hand. 

"The search is not being overlooked. But Geneva is a big city. It isnot easy to search Geneva and find, when we know nothing about thewoman for whom we are searching, except that her hair is red, and thatprobably a young girl last night was with her. It is rather here, Ithink--in Aix--that we must keep our eyes wide open. "

"Here!" cried Wethermill in exasperation. He stared at Hanaud as thoughhe were mad. 

"Yes, here; at the post office--at the telephone exchange. Suppose thatthe man is in Aix, as he may well be; some time he will wish to send aletter, or a telegram, or a message over the telephone. That, I tellyou, is our chance. But here is news for us. "

Hanaud pointed to a messenger who was walking towards them. The manhanded Hanaud an envelope. 

"From M. Le Commissaire, " he said; and he saluted and retired. "From M. Le Commissaire?" cried Ricardo excitedly. 

But before Hanaud could open the envelope Harry Wethermill laid a handupon his sleeve. 

"Before we pass to something new, M. Hanaud, " he said, "I should bevery glad if you would tell me what made you shiver in the salon thismorning. It has distressed me ever since. What was it that those twocushions had to tell you?"

There was a note of anguish in his voice difficult to resist. ButHanaud resisted it. He shook his head. 

"Again, " he said gravely, "I am to remind you that I am captain of theship and do not show my observation. "

He tore open the envelope and sprang up from his seat. 

"Mme. Dauvray's motor-car has been found, " he cried. "Let us go!"

Hanaud called for the bill and paid it. The three men left the Villades Fleurs together. 

CHAPTER IX

MME. DAUVRAY'S MOTOR-CAR

They got into a cab outside the door. Perrichet mounted the box, andthe cab was driven along the upward-winding road past the HotelBernascon. A hundred yards beyond the hotel the cab stopped opposite toa villa. A hedge separated the garden of the villa from the road, andabove the hedge rose a board with the words "To Let" upon it. At thegate a gendarme was standing, and just within the gate Ricardo sawLouis Besnard, the Commissaire, and Servettaz, Mme. Dauvray's chauffeur. 

"It is here, " said Besnard, as the party descended from the cab, "inthe coach-house of this empty villa. "

"Here?" cried Ricardo in amazement. 

The discovery upset all his theories. He had expected to hear that ithad been found fifty leagues away; but here, within a couple of milesof the Villa Rose itself--the idea seemed absurd! Why take it away atall--unless it was taken away as a blind? That supposition found itsway into Ricardo's mind, and gathered strength as he thought upon it;for Hanaud had seemed to lean to the belief that one of the murderersmight be still in Aix. Indeed, a glance at him showed that he was notdiscomposed by their discovery. 

"When was it found?" Hanaud asked. 

"This morning. A gardener comes to the villa on two days a week to keepthe grounds in order. Fortunately Wednesday is one of his days. Fortunately, too, there was rain yesterday evening. He noticed thetracks of the wheels which you can see on the gravel, and since thevilla is empty he was surprised. He found the coach-house door forcedand the motor-car inside it. When he went to his luncheon he broughtthe news of his discovery to the depot. "

The party followed the Commissaire along the drive to the coach-house. 

"We will have the car brought out, " said Hanaud to Servettaz. 

It was a big and powerful machine with a limousine body, luxuriouslyfitted and cushioned in the shade of light grey. The outside panels ofthe car were painted a dark grey. The car had hardly been brought outinto the sunlight before a cry of stupefaction burst from the lips ofPerrichet. 

"Oh!" he cried, in utter abasement. "I shall never forgivemyself--never, never!"

"Why?" Hanaud asked, turning sharply as he spoke. 

Perrichet was standing with his round eyes staring and his mouth agape. 

"Because, monsieur, I saw that car--at four o'clock this morning--atthe corner of the road--not fifty yards from the Villa Rose. "

"What!" cried Ricardo. 

"You saw it!" exclaimed Wethermill. 

Upon their faces was reflected now the stupefaction of Perrichet. 

"But you must have made a mistake, " said the Commissaire. 

"No, no, monsieur, " Perrichet insisted. "It was that car. It was thatnumber. It was just after daylight. I was standing outside the gate ofthe villa on duty where M. Le Commissaire had placed me. The carappeared at the corner and slackened speed. It seemed to me that it wasgoing to turn into the road and come down past me. But instead thedriver, as if he were now sure of his way, put the car at its top speedand went on into Aix. "

"Was any one inside the car?" asked Hanaud. 

"No, monsieur; it was empty. "

"But you saw the driver!" exclaimed Wethermill. 

"Yes; what was he like?" cried the Commissaire. 

Perrichet shook his head mournfully. 

"He wore a talc mask over the upper part of his face, and had a littleblack moustache, and was dressed in a heavy great-coat of blue with awhite collar. "

"That is my coat, monsieur, " said Servettaz, and as he spoke he liftedit up from the chauffeur's seat. "It is Mme. Dauvray's livery. "

Harry Wethermill groaned aloud. 

"We have lost him. He was within our grasp--he, the murderer!--and hewas allowed to go!"

Perrichet's grief was pitiable. 

"Monsieur, " he pleaded, "a car slackens its speed and goes on again--itis not so unusual a thing. I did not know the number of Mme. Dauvray'scar. I did not even know that it had disappeared"; and suddenly tearsof mortification filled his eyes. "But why do I make these excuses?" hecried. "It is better, M. Hanaud, that I go back to my uniform and standat the street corner. I am as foolish as I look. "

"Nonsense, my friend, " said Hanaud, clapping the disconsolate man uponthe shoulder. "You remembered the car and its number. That issomething--and perhaps a great deal, " he added gravely. "As for thetalc mask and the black moustache, that is not much to help us, it istrue. " He looked at Ricardo's crestfallen face and smiled. "We mightarrest our good friend M. Ricardo upon that evidence, but no one elsethat I know. "

Hanaud laughed immoderately at his joke. He alone seemed to feel nodisappointment at Perrichet's oversight. Ricardo was a little touchy onthe subject of his personal appearance, and bridled visibly. Hanaudturned towards Servettaz. 

"Now, " he said, "you know how much petrol was taken from the garage?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Can you tell me, by the amount which has been used, how far that carwas driven last night?" Hanaud asked. 

Servettaz examined the tank. 

"A long way, monsieur. From a hundred and thirty to a hundred and fiftykilometers, I should say. "

"Yes, just about that distance, I should say, " cried Hanaud. 

His eyes brightened, and a smile, a rather fierce smile, came to hislips. He opened the door, and examined with a minute scrutiny the floorof the carriage, and as he looked, the smile faded from his face. Perplexity returned to it. He took the cushions, looked them over andshook them out. 

"I see no sign--" he began, and then he uttered a little shrill cry ofsatisfaction. From the crack of the door by the hinge he picked off atiny piece of pale green stuff, which he spread out upon the back ofhis hand. 

"Tell me, what is this?" he said to Ricardo. 

"It is a green fabric, " said Ricardo very wisely. 

"It is green chiffon, " said Hanaud. "And the frock in which Mlle. Celiewent away was of green chiffon over satin. Yes, Mlle. Celie travelledin this car. "

He hurried to the driver's seat. Upon the floor there was some darkmould. Hanaud cleaned it off with his knife and held some of it in thepalm of his hand. He turned to Servettaz. 

"You drove the car on Tuesday morning before you went to Chambery?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Where did you take up Mme. Dauvray and Mlle. Celie?"

"At the front door of the Villa Rose. "

"Did you get down from the seat at all?"

"No, monsieur; not after I left the garage. "

Hanaud returned to his companions. 

"See!" And he opened his hand. "This is black soil--moist from lastnight's rain--soil like the soil in front of Mme. Dauvray's salon. Look, here is even a blade or two of the grass"; and he turned themould over in the palm of his hand. Then he took an empty envelope fromhis pocket and poured the soil into it and gummed the flap down. Hestood and frowned at the motor-car. 

"Listen, " he said, "how I am puzzled! There was a man last night at theVilla Rose. There were a man's blurred footmarks in the mould beforethe glass door. That man drove madame's car for a hundred and fiftykilometers, and he leaves the mould which clung to his boots upon thefloor of his seat. Mlle. Celie and another woman drove away inside thecar. Mlle. Celie leaves a fragment of the chiffon tunic of her frockwhich caught in the hinge. But Mlle. Celie made much clearerimpressions in the mould than the man. Yet on the floor of the carriagethere is no trace of her shoes. Again I say there is something herewhich I do not understand. " And he spread out his hands with animpulsive gesture of despair. 

"It looks as if they had been careful and he careless, " said Mr. Ricardo, with the air of a man solving a very difficult problem. 

"What a mind!" cried Hanaud, now clasping his hands together inadmiration. "How quick and how profound!"

There was at times something elephantinely elfish in M. Hanaud'sdemeanour, which left Mr. Ricardo at a loss. But he had come to noticethat these undignified manifestations usually took place when Hanaudhad reached a definite opinion upon some point which had perplexed him. 

"Yet there is perhaps, another explanation, " Hanaud continued. "Forobserve, M. Ricardo. We have other evidence to show that the carelessone was Mlle. Celie. It was she who left her footsteps so plainlyvisible upon the grass, not the man. However, we will go back to M. Wethermill's room at the Hotel Majestic and talk this matter over. Weknow something now. Yes, we know--what do we know, monsieur?" he asked, suddenly turning with a smile to Ricardo, and, as Ricardo paused:"Think it over while we walk down to M. Wethermill's apartment in theHotel Majestic. "

"We know that the murderer has escaped, " replied Ricardo hotly. 

"The murderer is not now the most important object of our search. He isvery likely at Marseilles by now. We shall lay our hands on him, neverfear, " replied Hanaud, with a superb gesture of disdain. "But it wasthoughtful of you to remind me of him. I might so easily have cleanforgotten him, and then indeed my reputation would have suffered aneclipse. " He made a low, ironical bow to Ricardo and walked quicklydown the road. 

"For a cumbersome man he is extraordinarily active, " said Mr. Ricardoto Harry Wethermill, trying to laugh, without much success. "A heavy, clever, middle-aged man, liable to become a little gutter-boy at amoment's notice. "

Thus he described the great detective, and the description is quoted. For it was Ricardo's best effort in the whole of this business. 

The three men went straight to Harry Wethermill's apartment, whichconsisted of a sitting-room and a bedroom on the first floor. A balconyran along outside. Hanaud stepped out on to it, looked about him, andreturned. 

"It is as well to know that we cannot be overheard, " he said. 

Harry Wethermill meanwhile had thrown himself into a chair. The mask hehad worn had slipped from its fastenings for a moment. There was a lookof infinite suffering upon his face. It was the face of a man torturedby misery to the snapping-point. 

Hanaud, on the other hand, was particularly alert. The discovery of themotor-car had raised his spirits. He sat at the table. 

"I will tell you what we have learnt, " he said, "and it is ofimportance. The three of them--the man, the woman with the red hair, and Mlle. Celie--all drove yesterday night to Geneva. That is only onething we have learnt. "

"Then you still cling to Geneva?" said Ricardo. 

"More than ever, " said Hanaud. 

He turned in his chair towards Wethermill. 

"Ah, my poor friend!" he said, when he saw the young man's distress. 

Harry Wethermill sprang up with a gesture as though to sweep the needof sympathy away. 

"What can I do for you?" he asked. 

"You have a road map, perhaps?" said Hanaud. 

"Yes, " said Wethermill, "mine is here. There it is"; and crossing theroom he brought it from a sidetable and placed it in front of Hanaud. Hanaud took a pencil from his pocket. 

"One hundred and fifty kilometers was about the distance which the carhad travelled. Measure the distances here, and you will see that Genevais the likely place. It is a good city to hide in. Moreover the carappears at the corner at daylight. How does it appear, there? What roadis it which comes out at that corner? The road from Geneva. I am notsorry that it is Geneva, for the Chef de la Surete is a friend of mine. "

"And what else do we know?" asked Ricardo. 

"This, " said Hanaud. He paused impressively. "Bring up your chair tothe table, M. Wethermill, and consider whether I am right or wrong";and he waited until Harry Wethermill had obeyed. Then he laughed in afriendly way at himself. 

"I cannot help it, " he said; "I have an eye for dramatic effects. Imust prepare for them when I know they are coming. And one, I tell you, is coming now. "

He shook his finger at his companions. Ricardo shifted and shuffled inhis chair. Harry Wethermill kept his eyes fixed on Hanaud's face, buthe was quiet, as he had been throughout the long inquiry. 

Hanaud lit a cigarette and took his time. 

"What I think is this. The man who drove the car into Geneva drove itback, because--he meant to leave it again in the garage of the VillaRose. "

"Good heavens!" cried Ricardo, flinging himself back. The theory socalmly enunciated took his breath away. 

"Would he have dared?" asked Harry Wethermill. 

Hanaud leaned across and tapped his fingers on the table to emphasisehis answer. 

"All through this crime there are two things visible--brains anddaring; clever brains and extraordinary daring. Would he have dared? Hedared to be at the corner close to the Villa Rose at daylight. Why elseshould he have returned except to put back the car? Consider! Thepetrol is taken from tins which Servettaz might never have touched fora fortnight, and by that time he might, as he said, have forgottenwhether he had not used them himself. I had this possibility in my mindwhen I put the questions to Servettaz about the petrol which theCommissaire thought so stupid. The utmost care is taken that thereshall be no mould left on the floor of the carriage. The scrap ofchiffon was torn off, no doubt, when the women finally left the car, and therefore not noticed, or that, too, would have been removed. Thatthe exterior of the car was dirty betrayed nothing, for Servettaz hadleft it uncleaned. "

Hanaud leaned back and, step by step, related the journey of the car. 

"The man leaves the gate open; he drives into Geneva the two women, whoare careful that their shoes shall leave no marks upon the floor. AtGeneva they get out. The man returns. If he can only leave the car inthe garage he covers all traces of the course he and his friends havetaken. No one would suspect that the car had ever left the garage. Atthe corner of the road, just as he is turning down to the villa, hesees a sergent-de-ville at the gate. He knows that the murder isdiscovered. He puts on full speed and goes straight out of the town. What is he to do? He is driving a car for which the police in an houror two, if not now already, will be surely watching. He is driving itin broad daylight. He must get rid of it, and at once, before peopleare about to see it, and to see him in it. Imagine his feelings! It isalmost enough to make one pity him. Here he is in a car which convictshim as a murderer, and he has nowhere to leave it. He drives throughAix. Then on the outskirts of the town he finds an empty villa. Hedrives in at the gate, forces the door of the coach-house, and leaveshis car there. Now, observe! It is no longer any use for him to pretendthat he and his friends did not disappear in that car. The murder isalready discovered, and with the murder the disappearance of the car. So he no longer troubles his head about it. He does not remove thetraces of mould from the place where his feet rested, which otherwise, no doubt, he would have done. It no longer matters. He has to run toearth now before he is seen. That is all his business. And so the stateof the car is explained. It was a bold step to bring that carback--yes, a bold and desperate step. But a clever one. For, if it hadsucceeded, we should have known nothing of their movements--oh, butnothing--nothing. Ah! I tell you this is no ordinary blundering affair. They are clever people who devised this crime--clever, and of anaudacity which is surprising. "

Then Hanaud lit another cigarette. 

Mr. Ricardo, on the other hand, could hardly continue to smoke forexcitement. 

"I cannot understand your calmness, " he exclaimed. 

"No?" said Hanaud. "Yet it is so obvious. You are the amateur, I am theprofessional--that is all. "

He looked at his watch and rose to his feet. 

"I must go" he said and as he turned towards the door a cry sprang fromMr. Ricardo's lips "It is true. I am the amateur. Yet I have knowledge, Monsieur Hanaud which the professional would do well to obtain. "

Hanaud turned a guarded face towards Ricardo. There was no longer anyraillery in his manner. He spoke slowly, coldly. 

"Let me have it then!"

"I have driven in my motor-car from Geneva to Aix, " Ricardo criedexcitedly. "A bridge crosses a ravine high up amongst the mountains. Atthe bridge there is a Custom House. There--at the Pont de laCaille--your car is stopped. It is searched. You must sign your name ina book. And there is no way round. You would find sure and certainproof whether or no Madame Dauvray's car travelled last night toGeneva. Not so many travellers pass along that road at night. You wouldfind certain proof too of how many people were in the car. For theysearch carefully at the Pont de la Caille. "

A dark flush overspread Hanaud's face. Ricardo was in the seventhHeaven. He had at last contributed something to the history of thiscrime. He had repaired an omission. He had supplied knowledge to theomniscient. Wethermill looked up drearily like one who has lost heart. 

"Yes, you must not neglect that clue, " he said. 

Hanaud replied testily:

"It is not a clue. M. Ricardo tells that he travelled from Geneva intoFrance and that his car was searched. Well, we know already that theofficers are particular at the Custom Houses of France. But travellingfrom France into Switzerland is a very different affair. InSwitzerland, hardly a glance, hardly a word. " That was true. M. Ricardocrestfallen recognized the truth. But his spirits rose again at once. "But the car came back from Geneva into France!" he cried. 

"Yes, but when the car came back, the man was alone in it, " Hanaudanswered. "I have more important things to attend to. For instance Imust know whether by any chance they have caught our man atMarseilles. " He laid his hand on Wethermill's shoulder. "And you, myfriend, I should counsel you to get some sleep. We may need all ourstrength tomorrow. I hope so. " He was speaking very bravely. "Yes, Ihope so. "

Wethermill nodded. 

"I shall try, " he said. 

"That's better, " said Hanaud cheerfully. "You will both stay here thisevening; for if I have news, I can then ring you up. "

Both men agreed, and Hanaud went away. He left Mr. Ricardo profoundlydisturbed. "That man will take advice from no one, " he declared. "Hisvanity is colossal. It is true they are not particular at the SwissFrontier. Still the car would have to stop there. At the Custom Housethey would know something. Hanaud ought to make inquiries. " But neitherRicardo nor Harry Wethermill heard a word more from Hanaud that night. 

CHAPTER X

NEWS FROM GENEVA

The next morning, however, before Mr. Ricardo was out of his bed, M. Hanaud was announced. He came stepping gaily into the room, moreelephantinely elfish than ever. 

"Send your valet away, " he said. And as soon as they were alone heproduced a newspaper, which he flourished in Mr. Ricardo's face andthen dropped into his hands. 

Ricardo saw staring him in the face a full description of CeliaHarland, of her appearance and her dress, of everything except hername, coupled with an intimation that a reward of four thousand francswould be paid to any one who could give information leading to thediscovery of her whereabouts to Mr. Ricardo, the Hotel Majestic, Aix-les-Bains!

Mr. Ricardo sat up in his bed with a sense of outrage. 

"You have done this?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"Why have you done it?" Mr. Ricardo cried. 

Hanaud advanced to the bed mysteriously on the tips of his toes. 

"I will tell you, " he said, in his most confidential tones. "Only itmust remain a secret between you and me. I did it--because I have asense of humour. "

"I hate publicity, " said Mr. Ricardo acidly. 

"On the other hand you have four thousand francs, " protested thedetective. "Besides, what else should I do? If I name myself, the verypeople we are seeking to catch--who, you may be sure, will be the firstto read this advertisement--will know that I, the great, theincomparable Hanaud, am after them; and I do not want them to knowthat. Besides"--and he spoke now in a gentle and most seriousvoice--"why should we make life more difficult for Mlle. Celie bytelling the world that the police want her? It will be time enough forthat when she appears before the Juge d'Instruction. "

Mr. Ricardo grumbled inarticulately, and read through the advertisementagain. 

"Besides, your description is incomplete, " he said. "There is nomention of the diamond earrings which Celia Harland was wearing whenshe went away. "

"Ah! so you noticed that!" exclaimed Hanaud. "A little more experienceand I should be looking very closely to my laurels. But as for theearrings--I will tell you, Mlle. Celie was not wearing them when shewent away from the Villa Rose. "

"But--but, " stammered Ricardo, "the case upon the dressing-room tablewas empty. "

"Still, she was not wearing them, I know, " said Hanaud decisively. 

"How do you know?" cried Ricardo, gazing at Hanaud with awe in hiseyes. "How could you know?"

"Because"--and Hanaud struck a majestic attitude, like a king in aplay--"because I am the captain of the ship. "

Upon that Mr. Ricardo suffered a return of his ill-humour. 

"I do not like to be trifled with, " he remarked, with as much dignityas his ruffled hair and the bed-clothes allowed him. He looked sternlyat the newspaper, turning it over, and then he uttered a cry ofsurprise. 

"But this is yesterday's paper!" he said. 

"Yesterday evening's paper, " Hanaud corrected. 

"Printed at Geneva!"

"Printed, and published and sold at Geneva, " said Hanaud. 

"When did you send the advertisement in, then?"

"I wrote a letter while we were taking our luncheon, " Hanaud explained. "The letter was to Besnard, asking him to telegraph the advertisementat once. "

"But you never said a word about it to us, " Ricardo grumbled. 

"No. And was I not wise?" said Hanaud, with complacency. "For you wouldhave forbidden me to use your name. "

"Oh, I don't go so far as that, " said Ricardo reluctantly. Hisindignation was rapidly evaporating. For there was growing up in hismind a pleasant perception that the advertisement placed him in thelimelight. 

He rose from his bed. 

"You will make yourself comfortable in the sitting-room while I have mybath. "

"I will, indeed, " replied Hanaud cheerily. "I have already ordered mymorning chocolate. I have hopes that you may have a telegram very soon. This paper was cried last night through the streets of Geneva. "

Ricardo dressed for once in a way with some approach to ordinarycelerity, and joined Hanaud. 

"Has nothing come?" he asked. 

"No. This chocolate is very good; it is better than that which I get inmy hotel. "

"Good heavens!" cried Ricardo, who was fairly twittering withexcitement. "You sit there talking about chocolate while my cup shakesin my fingers. "

"Again I must remind you that you are the amateur, I the professional, my friend. "

As the morning drew on, however, Hanaud's professional quietudedeserted him. He began to start at the sound of footsteps in thecorridor, to glance every other moment from the window, to eat hiscigarettes rather than to smoke them. At eleven o'clock Ricardo's valetbrought a telegram into the room. Ricardo seized it. 

"Calmly, my friend, " said Hanaud. 

With trembling fingers Ricardo tore it open. He jumped in his chair. Speechless, he handed the telegram to Hanaud. It had been sent fromGeneva, and it ran thus:

"Expect me soon after three. --MARTHE GOBIN. "

Hanaud nodded his head. 

"I told you I had hopes. " All his levity had gone in an instant fromhis manner. He spoke very quietly. 

"I had better send for Wethermill?" asked Ricardo. 

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders. 

"As you like. But why raise hopes in that poor man's breast which anhour or two may dash for ever to the ground? Consider! Marthe Gobin hassomething to tell us. Think over those eight points of evidence whichyou drew up yesterday in the Villa des Fleurs, and say whether what shehas to tell us is more likely to prove Mlle. Celie's innocence than herguilt. Think well, for I will be guided by you, M. Ricardo, " saidHanaud solemnly. "If you think it better that your friend should livein torture until Marthe Gobin comes, and then perhaps suffer worsetorture from the news she brings, be it so. You shall decide. If, onthe other hand, you think it will be best to leave M. Wethermill inpeace until we know her story, be it so. You shall decide. "

Ricardo moved uneasily. The solemnity of Hanaud's manner impressed him. He had no wish to take the responsibility of the decision upon himself. But Hanaud sat with his eyes strangely fixed upon Ricardo, waiting forhis answer. 

"Well, " said Ricardo, at length, "good news will be none the worse forwaiting a few hours. Bad news will be a little the better. "

"Yes, " said Hanaud; "so I thought you would decide. " He took up aContinental Bradshaw from a bookshelf in the room. "From Geneva shewill come through Culoz. Let us see!" He turned over the pages. "Thereis a train from Culoz which reaches Aix at seven minutes past three. Itis by that train she will come. You have a motor-car?"

"Yes. "

"Very well. Will you pick me up in it at three at my hotel? We willdrive down to the station and see the arrivals by that train. It mayhelp us to get some idea of the person with whom we have to deal. Thatis always an advantage. Now I will leave you, for I have much to do. But I will look in upon M. Wethermill as I go down and tell him thatthere is as yet no news. "

He took up his hat and stick, and stood for a moment staring out of thewindow. Then he roused himself from his reverie with a start. 

"You look out upon Mont Revard, I see. I think M. Wethermill's viewover the garden and the town is the better one, " he said, and went outof the room. 

At three o'clock Ricardo called in his car, which was an open car ofhigh power, at Hanaud's hotel, and the two men went to the station. They waited outside the exit while the passengers gave up theirtickets. Amongst them a middle-aged, short woman, of a plethorictendency, attracted their notice. She was neatly but shabbily dressedin black; her gloves were darned, and she was obviously in a hurry. Asshe came out she asked a commissionaire:

"How far is it to the Hotel Majestic?"

The man told her the hotel was at the very top of the town, and the waywas steep. 

"But madame can go up in the omnibus of the hotel, " he suggested. Madame, however, was in too much of a hurry. The omnibus would have towait for luggage. She hailed a closed cab and drove off inside it. 

"Now, if we go back in the car, we shall be all ready for her when shearrives, " said Hanaud. 

They passed the cab, indeed, a few yards up the steep hill which leadsfrom the station. The cab was moving at a walk. 

"She looks honest, " said Hanaud, with a sigh of relief. "She is somegood bourgeoise anxious to earn four thousand francs. "

They reached the hotel in a few minutes. 

"We may need your car again the moment Marthe Gobin has gone, " saidHanaud. 

"It shall wait here, " said Ricardo. 

"No, " said Hanaud; "let it wait in the little street at the back of myhotel. It will not be so noticeable there. You have petrol for a longjourney?"

Ricardo gave the order quietly to his chauffeur, and followed Hanaudinto the hotel. Through a glass window they could see Wethermillsmoking a cigar over his coffee. 

"He looks as if he had not slept, " said Ricardo. 

Hanaud nodded sympathetically, and beckoned Ricardo past the window. 

"But we are nearing the end. These two days have been for him days ofgreat trouble; one can see that very clearly. And he has done nothingto embarrass us. Men in distress are apt to be a nuisance. I amgrateful to M. Wethermill. But we are nearing the end. Who knows?Within an hour or two we may have news for him. "

He spoke with great feeling, and the two men ascended the stairs toRicardo's rooms. For the second time that day Hanaud's professionalcalm deserted him. The window overlooked the main entrance to thehotel. Hanaud arranged the room, and, even while he arranged it, ranevery other second and leaned from the window to watch for the comingof the cab. 

"Put the bank-notes upon the table, " he said hurriedly. "They willpersuade her to tell us all that she has to tell. Yes, that will do. She is not in sight yet? No. "

"She could not be. It is a long way from the station, " said Ricardo, "and the whole distance is uphill. "

"Yes, that is true, " Hanaud replied. "We will not embarrass her bysitting round the table like a tribunal. You will sit in thatarm-chair. "

Ricardo took his seat, crossed his knees, and joined the tips of hisfingers. 

"So! not too judicial!" said Hanaud; "I will sit here at the table. Whatever you do, do not frighten her. " Hanaud sat down in the chairwhich he had placed for himself. "Marthe Gobin shall sit opposite, withthe light upon her face. So!" And, springing up, he arranged a chairfor her. "Whatever you do, do not frighten her, " he repeated. "I amnervous. So much depends upon this interview. " And in a second he wasback at the window. 

Ricardo did not move. He arranged in his mind the interrogatory whichwas to take place. He was to conduct it. He was the master of thesituation. All the limelight was to be his. Startling facts would cometo light elicited by his deft questions. Hanaud need not fear. He wouldnot frighten her. He would be gentle, he would be cunning. Softly anddelicately he would turn this good woman inside out, like a glove. Every artistic fibre in his body vibrated to the dramatic situation. 

Suddenly Hanaud leaned out of the window. 

"It comes! it comes!" he said in a quick, feverish whisper. "I can seethe cab between the shrubs of the drive. "

"Let it come!" said Mr. Ricardo superbly. 

Even as he sat he could hear the grating of wheels upon the drive. Hesaw Hanaud lean farther from the window and stamp impatiently upon thefloor. 

"There it is at the door, " he said; and for a few seconds he spoke nomore. He stood looking downwards, craning his head, with his backtowards Ricardo. 

Then, with a wild and startled cry, he staggered back into the room. His face was white as wax, his eyes full of horror, his mouth open. 

"What is the matter?" exclaimed Ricardo, springing to his feet. 

"They are lifting her out! She doesn't move! They are lifting her out!"

For a moment he stared into Ricardo's face--paralysed by fear. Then hesprang down the stairs. Ricardo followed him. 

There was confusion in the corridor. Men were running, voices werecrying questions. As they passed the window they saw Wethermill startup, aroused from his lethargy. They knew the truth before they reachedthe entrance of the hotel. A cab had driven up to the door from thestation; in the cab was an unknown woman stabbed to the heart. 

"She should have come by the omnibus, " Hanaud repeated and repeatedstupidly. For the moment he was off his balance. 

CHAPTER XI

THE UNOPENED LETTER

The hall of the hotel had been cleared of people. At the entrance fromthe corridor a porter barred the way. 

"No one can pass, " said he. 

"I think that I can, " said Hanaud, and he produced his card. "From theSurete at Paris. "

He was allowed to enter, with Ricardo at his heels. On the ground layMarthe Gobin; the manager of the hotel stood at her side; a doctor wason his knees. Hanaud gave his card to the manager. 

"You have sent word to the police?"

"Yes, " said the manager. 

"And the wound?" asked Hanaud, kneeling on the ground beside thedoctor. It was a very small wound, round and neat and clean, and therewas very little blood. "It was made by a bullet, " said Hanaud--"sometiny bullet from an air-pistol. "

"No, " answered the doctor. 

"No knife made it, " Hanaud asserted. 

"That is true, " said the doctor. "Look!" and he took up from the floorby his knee the weapon which had caused Marthe Gobin's death. It wasnothing but an ordinary skewer with a ring at one end and a sharp pointat the other, and a piece of common white firewood for a handle. Thewood had been split, the ring inserted and spliced in position withstrong twine. It was a rough enough weapon, but an effective one. Theproof of its effectiveness lay stretched upon the floor beside them. 

Hanaud gave it to the manager of the hotel. 

"You must be very careful of this, and give it as it is to the police. "

Then he bent once more over Marthe Gobin. 

"Did she suffer?" he asked in a low voice. 

"No; death must have been instantaneous, " said the doctor. 

"I am glad of that, " said Hanaud, as he rose again to his feet. 

In the doorway the driver of the cab was standing. 

"What has he to say?" Hanaud asked. 

The man stepped forward instantly. He was an old, red-faced, stout man, with a shiny white tall hat, like a thousand drivers of cabs. 

"What have I to say, monsieur?" he grumbled in a husky voice. "I takeup the poor woman at the station and I drive her where she bids me, andI find her dead, and my day is lost. Who will pay my fare, monsieur?"

"I will, " said Hanaud. "There it is, " and he handed the man afive-franc piece. "Now, answer me! Do you tell me that this woman wasmurdered in your cab and that you knew nothing about it?"

"But what should I know? I take her up at the station, and all the wayup the hill her head is every moment out of the window, crying, 'Faster, faster!' Oh, the good woman was in a hurry! But for me I takeno notice. The more she shouts, the less I hear; I bury my head betweenmy shoulders, and I look ahead of me and I take no notice. One cannotexpect cab-horses to run up these hills; it is not reasonable. " "So youwent at a walk, " said Hanaud. He beckoned to Ricardo, and said to themanager: "M. Besnard will, no doubt, be here in a few minutes, and hewill send for the Juge d'Instruction. There is nothing that we can do. "

He went back to Ricardo's sitting-room and flung himself into a chair. He had been calm enough downstairs in the presence of the doctor andthe body of the victim. Now, with only Ricardo for a witness, he gaveway to distress. 

"It is terrible, " he said. "The poor woman! It was I who brought her toAix. It was through my carelessness. But who would have thought--?" Hesnatched his hands from his face and stood up. "I should have thought, "he said solemnly. "Extraordinary daring--that was one of the qualitiesof my criminal. I knew it, and I disregarded it. Now we have a secondcrime. "

"The skewer may lead you to the criminal, " said Mr. Ricardo. 

"The skewer!" cried Hanaud. "How will that help us? A knife, yes--perhaps. But a skewer!"

"At the shops--there will not be so many in Aix at which you can buyskewers--they may remember to whom they sold one within the last day orso. "

"How do we know it was bought in the last day or so?" cried Hanaudscornfully. "We have not to do with a man who walks into a shop andbuys a single skewer to commit a murder with, and so hands himself overto the police. How often must I say it!"

The violence of his contempt nettled Ricardo. 

"If the murderer did not buy it, how did he obtain it?" he askedobstinately. 

"Oh, my friend, could he not have stolen it? From this or from anyhotel in Aix? Would the loss of a skewer be noticed, do you think? Howmany people in Aix today have had rognons a la brochette for theirluncheon! Besides, it is not merely the death of this poor woman whichtroubles me. We have lost the evidence which she was going to bring tous. She had something to tell us about Celie Harland which now we shallnever hear. We have to begin all over again, and I tell you we have notthe time to begin all over again. No, we have not the time. Time willbe lost, and we have no time to lose. " He buried his face again in hishands and groaned aloud. His grief was so violent and so sincere thatRicardo, shocked as he was by the murder of Marthe Gobin, set himselfto console him. 

"But you could not have foreseen that at three o'clock in the afternoonat Aix--"

Hanaud brushed the excuse aside. 

"It is no extenuation. I OUGHT to have foreseen. Oh, but I will have nopity now, " he cried, and as he ended the words abruptly his facechanged. He lifted a trembling forefinger and pointed. There came asudden look of life into his dull and despairing eyes. 

He was pointing to a side-table on which were piled Mr. Ricardo'sletters. 

"You have not opened them this morning?" he asked. 

"No. You came while I was still in bed. I have not thought of them tillnow. "

Hanaud crossed to the table, and, looking down at the letters, uttereda cry. 

"There's one, the big envelope, " he said, his voice shaking like hishand. "It has a Swiss stamp. "

He swallowed to moisten his throat. Ricardo sprang across the room andtore open the envelope. There was a long letter enclosed in ahandwriting unknown to him. He read aloud the first lines of the letter:

"I write what I saw and post it tonight, so that no one may be beforeme with the news. I will come over tomorrow for the money. "

A low exclamation from Hanaud interrupted the words. 

"The signature! Quick!"

Ricardo turned to the end of the letter. 

"Marthe Gobin. "

"She speaks, then! After all she speaks!" Hanaud whispered in a voiceof awe. He ran to the door of the room, opened it suddenly, and, shutting it again, locked it. "Quick! We cannot bring that poor womanback to life; but we may still--" He did not finish his sentence. Hetook the letter unceremoniously from Ricardo's hand and seated himselfat the table. Over his shoulder Mr. Ricardo, too, read Marthe Gobin'sletter. 

It was just the sort of letter, which in Ricardo's view, Marthe Gobinwould have written--a long, straggling letter which never kept to thepoint, which exasperated them one moment by its folly and fired them toexcitement the next. 

It was dated from a small suburb of Geneva, on the western side of thelake, and it ran as follows:

"The suburb is but a street close to the lake-side, and a tram runsinto the city. It is quite respectable, you understand, monsieur, witha hotel at the end of it, and really some very good houses. But I donot wish to deceive you about the social position of myself or myhusband. Our house is on the wrong side of the street--definitely--yes. It is a small house, and we do not see the water from any of thewindows because of the better houses opposite. M. Gobin, my husband, who was a clerk in one of the great banks in Geneva, broke down inhealth in the spring, and for the last three months has been compelledto keep indoors. Of course, money has not been plentiful, and I couldnot afford a nurse. Consequently I myself have been compelled to nursehim. Monsieur, if you were a woman, you would know what men are whenthey are ill--how fretful, how difficult. There is not much distractionfor the woman who nurses them. So, as I am in the house most of theday, I find what amusement I can in watching the doings of myneighbours. You will not blame me. 

"A month ago the house almost directly opposite to us was takenfurnished for the summer by a Mme. Rossignol. She is a widow, butduring the last fortnight a young gentleman has come several times inthe afternoon to see her, and it is said in the street that he is goingto marry her. But I cannot believe it myself. Monsieur is a young manof perhaps thirty, with smooth, black hair. He wears a moustache, alittle black moustache, and is altogether captivating. Mme. Rossignolis five or six years older, I should think--a tall woman, with red hairand a bold sort of coarse beauty. I was not attracted by her. Sheseemed not quite of the same world as that charming monsieur who wassaid to be going to marry her. No; I was not attracted by AdeleRossignol. "

And when he had come to that point Hanaud looked up with a start. 

"So the name was Adele, " he whispered. 

"Yes, " said Ricardo. "Helene Vauquier spoke the truth. "

Hanaud nodded with a queer smile upon his lips. 

"Yes, there she spoke the truth. I thought she did. "

"But she said Adele's hair was black, " interposed Mr. Ricardo. 

"Yes, there she didn't, " said Hanaud drily, and his eyes dropped againto the paper. 

"I knew her name was Adele, for often I have heard her servant callingher so, and without any 'Madame' in front of the name. That is strange, is it not, to hear an elderly servant-woman calling after her mistress, 'Adele, ' just simple 'Adele'? It was that which made me think monsieurand madame were not of the same world. But I do not believe that theyare going to be married. I have an instinct about it. Of course, onenever knows with what extraordinary women the nicest men will fall inlove. So that after all these two may get married. But if they do, I donot think they will be happy. 

"Besides the old woman there was another servant, a man, Hippolyte, whoserved in the house and drove the carriage when it was wanted--arespectable man. He always touched his hat when Mme. Rossignol came outof the house. He slept in the house at night, although the stable wasat the end of the street. I thought he was probably the son of Jeanne, the servant-woman. He was young, and his hair was plastered down uponhis forehead, and he was altogether satisfied with himself and a greatfavorite amongst the servants in the street. The carriage and the horsewere hired from Geneva. That is the household of Mme. Rossignol. "

So far, Mr. Ricardo read in silence. Then he broke out again. 

"But we have them! The red-haired woman called Adele; the man with thelittle black moustache. It was he who drove the motor-car!"

Hanaud held up his hand to check the flow of words, and both read onagain:

"At three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon madame was driven away in thecarriage, and I did not see it return all that evening. Of course, itmay have returned to the stables by another road. But it was notunusual for the carriage to take her into Geneva and wait a long time. I went to bed at eleven, but in the night M. Gobin was restless, and Irose to get him some medicine. We slept in the front of the house, monsieur, and while I was searching for the matches upon the table inthe middle of the room I heard the sound of carriage wheels in thesilent street. I went to the window, and, raising a corner of thecurtains, looked out. M. Gobin called to me fretfully from the bed toknow why I did not light the candle and get him what he wanted. I havealready told you how fretful sick men can be, always complaining ifjust for a minute one distracts oneself by looking out of the window. But there! One can do nothing to please them. Yet how right I was toraise the blind and look out of the window! For if I had obeyed myhusband I might have lost four thousand francs. And four thousandfrancs are not to be sneezed at by a poor woman whose husband lies inbed. 

"I saw the carriage stop at Mme. Rossignol's house. Almost at once thehouse door was opened by the old servant, although the hall of thehouse and all the windows in the front were dark. That was the firstthing that surprised me. For when madame came home late and the housewas dark, she used to let herself in with a latchkey. Now, in the darkhouse, in the early morning, a servant was watching for them. It wasstrange. 

"As soon as the door of the house was opened the door of the carriageopened too, and a young lady stepped quickly out on to the pavement. The train of her dress caught in the door, and she turned round, stooped, freed it with her hand, and held it up off the ground. Thenight was clear, and there was a lamp in the street close by the doorof Mme. Rossignol's house. As she turned I saw her face under the biggreen hat. It was very pretty and young, and the hair was fair. Shewore a white coat, but it was open in front and showed her eveningfrock of pale green. When she lifted her skirt I saw the bucklessparkling on her satin shoes. It was the young lady for whom you areadvertising, I am sure. She remained standing just for a moment withoutmoving, while Mme. Rossignol got out. I was surprised to see a younglady of such distinction in Mme. Rossignol's company. Then, stillholding her skirt up, she ran very lightly and quickly across thepavement into the dark house. I thought, monsieur, that she was veryanxious not to be seen. So when I saw your advertisement I was certainthat this was the young lady for whom you are searching. 

"I waited for a few moments and saw the carriage drive off towards thestable at the end of the street. But no light went up in any of therooms in front of the house. And M. Gobin was so fretful that I droppedthe corner of the blind, lit the candle, and gave him his coolingdrink. His watch was on the table at the bedside, and I saw that it wasfive minutes to three. I will send you a telegram tomorrow, as soon asI am sure at what hour I can leave my husband. Accept, monsieur, I begyou, my most distinguished salutations. 

"MARTHE GOBIN. "

Hanaud leant back with an extraordinary look of perplexity upon hisface. But to Ricardo the whole story was now clear. Here was anindependent witness, without the jealousy or rancours of HeleneVauquier. Nothing could be more damning than her statement; itcorroborated those footmarks upon the soil in front of the glass doorof the salon. There was nothing to be done except to set aboutarresting Mlle. Celie at once. 

"The facts work with your theory, M. Hanaud. The young man with theblack moustache did not return to the house at Geneva. For somewhereupon the road close to Geneva he met the carriage. He was driving backthe car to Aix--" And then another thought struck him: "But no!" hecried. "We are altogether wrong. See! They did not reach home untilfive minutes to three. "

Five minutes to three! But this demolished the whole of Hanaud's theoryabout the motor-car. The murderers had left the villa between elevenand twelve, probably before half-past eleven. The car was a machine ofsixty horse-power, and the roads were certain to be clear. Yet thetravellers only reached their home at three. Moreover, the car was backin Aix at four. It was evident they did not travel by the car. 

"Geneva time is an hour later than French time, " said Hanaud shortly. It seemed as if the corroboration of this letter disappointed him. "Aquarter to three in Mme. Gobin's house would be a quarter to two by ourwatches here. "

Hanaud folded up the letter, and rose to his feet. 

"We will go now, and we will take this letter with us. " Hanaud lookedabout the room, and picked up a glove lying upon a table. "I left thisbehind me, " he said, putting it into his pocket. "By the way, where isthe telegram from Marthe Gobin?"

"You put it in your letter-case. "

"Oh, did I?"

Hanaud took out his letter-case and found the telegram within it. Hisface lightened. 

"Good!" he said emphatically. "For, since we have this telegram, theremust have been another message sent from Adele Rossignol to Aix sayingthat Marthe Gobin, that busybody, that inquisitive neighbour, who hadno doubt seen M. Ricardo's advertisement, was on her way hither. Oh itwill not be put as crudely as that, but that is what the message willmean. We shall have him. " And suddenly his face grew very stern. "IMUST catch him, for Marthe Gobin's death I cannot forgive. A poor womanmeaning no harm, and murdered like a sheep under our noses. No, that Icannot forgive. "

Ricardo wondered whether it was the actual murder of Marthe Gobin orthe fact that he had been beaten and outwitted which Hanaud could notforgive. But discretion kept him silent. 

"Let us go, " said Hanaud. "By the lift, if you please; it will savetime. "

They descended into the hall close by the main door. The body of MartheGobin had been removed to the mortuary of the town. The life of thehotel had resumed its course. 

"M. Besnard has gone, I suppose?" Hanaud asked of the porter; and, receiving an assent, he walked quickly out of the front door. 

"But there is a shorter way, " said Ricardo, running after him: "acrossthe garden at the back and down the steps. "

"It will make no difference now, " said Hanaud. 

They hurried along the drive and down the road which circled round thehotel and dipped to the town. 

Behind Hanaud's hotel Ricardo's car was waiting. 

"We must go first to Besnard's office. The poor man will be at hiswits' end to know who was Mme. Gobin and what brought her to Aix. Besides, I wish to send a message over the telephone. "

Hanaud descended and spent a quarter of an hour with the Commissaire. As he came out he looked at his watch. 

"We shall be in time, I think, " he said. He climbed into the car. "Themurder of Marthe Gobin on her way from the station will put our friendsat their ease. It will be published, no doubt, in the evening papers, and those good people over there in Geneva will read it with amusement. They do not know that Marthe Gobin wrote a letter yesterday night. Come, let us go!"

"Where to?" asked Ricardo. 

"Where to?" exclaimed Hanaud. "Why, of course, to Geneva. "

CHAPTER XII

THE ALUMINIUM FLASK

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

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

Ricardo was a trifle disappointed. They were on the great journey toGeneva. They were going to arrest Mlle. Celie and her accomplices. AndHanaud had not come disguised. Hanaud, in Ricardo's eyes, was hardlyliving up to the dramatic expedition on which they had set out. Itseemed to him that there was something incorrect in the great detectivecoming out on the chase without a false beard. 

"But, my dear friend, why shouldn't I?" pleaded Hanaud. "We are goingto dine together at the Restaurant du Nord, over the lake, until itgrows dark. It is not pleasant to eat one's soup in a false beard. Haveyou tried it? Besides, everybody stares so, seeing perfectly well thatit is false. Now, I do not want tonight that people should know me fora 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 endof it, the car stopped. A question, a hurried glance into the body ofthe car, and the officers of the Customs stood aside. 

"You see how perfunctory it is, " said Hanaud and with a jerk the carmoved on. The jerk threw Hanaud against Mr. Ricardo. Something hard inthe detective's pocket knocked against his companion. 

"You have got them?" he whispered. 

"What?"

"The handcuffs. "

Another disappointment awaited Ricardo. A detective without a falsebeard was bad enough, but that was nothing to a detective withouthandcuffs. The paraphernalia of justice were sadly lacking. However, Hanaud consoled Mr. Ricardo by showing him the hard thing; it wasalmost as thrilling as the handcuffs, for it was a loaded revolver. 

"There will be danger, then?" said Ricardo, with a tremor ofexcitement. "I should have brought mine. "

"There would have been danger, my friend, " Hanaud objected gravely, "ifyou had brought yours. "

They reached Geneva as the dusk was falling, and drove straight to therestaurant by the side of the lake and mounted to the balcony on thefirst floor. A small, stout man sat at a table alone in a corner of thebalcony. He rose and held out his hands. 

"My friend, M. Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete of Geneva, " said Hanaud, presenting the little man to his companion. 

There were as yet only two couples dining in the restaurant, and Hanaudspoke so that neither could overhear him. He sat down at the table. 

"What news?" he asked. 

"None, " said Lemerre. "No one has come out of the house, no one hasgone in. "

"And if anything happens while we dine?"

"We shall know, " said Lemerre. "Look, there is a man loitering underthe trees there. He will strike a match to light his pipe. "

The hurried conversation was ended. 

"Good, " said Hanaud. "We will dine, then, and be gay. "

He called to the waiter and ordered dinner. It was after seven whenthey sat down to dinner, and they dined while the dusk deepened. In thestreet below the lights flashed out, throwing a sheen on the foliage ofthe trees at the water's side. Upon the dark lake the reflections oflamps rippled and shook. A boat in which musicians sang to music, passed by with a cool splash of oars. The green and red lights of thelaunches glided backwards and forwards. Hanaud alone of the party onthe balcony tried to keep the conversation upon a light and generallevel. But it was plain that even he was overdoing his gaiety. Therewere moments when a sudden contraction of the muscles would clench hishands and give a spasmodic jerk to his shoulders. He was waitinguneasily, uncomfortably, until darkness should come. 

"Eat, " he cried--"eat, my friends, " playing with his own barely tastedfood. 

And then, at a sentence from Lemerre, his knife and fork clattered onhis plate, and he sat with a face suddenly grown white. 

For Lemerre said, as though it was no more than a matter of ordinarycomment:

"So Mme. Dauvray's jewels were, after all, never stolen?"

Hanaud started. 

"You know that? How did you know it?"

"It was in this evening's paper. I bought one on the way here. Theywere found under the floor of the bedroom. "

And even as he spoke a newsboy's voice rang out in the street belowthem. Lemerre was alarmed by the look upon his friend's face. 

"Does it matter, Hanaud?" he asked, with some solicitude. 

"It matters--" and Hanaud rose up abruptly. 

The boy's voice sounded louder in the street below. The words becamedistinct to all upon that balcony. 

"The Aix murder! Discovery of the jewels!"

"We must go, " Hanaud whispered hoarsely. "Here are life and death inthe balance, as I believe, and there"--he pointed down to the littlegroup gathering about the newsboy under the trees--"there is thecommand which way to tip the scales. "

"It was not I who sent it, " said Ricardo eagerly. 

He had no precise idea what Hanaud meant by his words; but he realisedthat the sooner he exculpated himself from the charge the better. 

"Of course it was not you. I know that very well, " said Hanaud. Hecalled for the bill. "When is that paper published?"

"At seven, " said Lemerre. 

"They have been crying it in the streets of Geneva, then, for more thanhalf an hour. "

He sat drumming impatiently upon the table until the bill should bebrought. 

"By Heaven, that's clever!" he muttered savagely. "There's a man whogets ahead of me at every turn. See, Lemerre, I take every care, everyprecaution, that no message shall be sent. I let it be known, I takecareful pains to let it be known, that no message can be sent withoutdetection following, and here's the message sent by the one channel Inever thought to guard against and stop. Look!"

The murder at the Villa Rose and the mystery which hid its perpetrationhad aroused interest. This new development had quickened it. From thebalcony Hanaud could see the groups thickening about the boy and thewhite sheets of the newspapers in the hands of passers-by. 

"Every one in Geneva or near Geneva will know of this message by now. "

"Who could have told?" asked Ricardo blankly, and Hanaud laughed in hisface, but laughed without any merriment. 

"At last!" he cried, as the waiter brought the bill, and just as he hadpaid it the light of a match flared up under the trees. 

"The signal!" said Lemerre. 

"Not too quickly, " whispered Hanaud. 

With as much unconcern as each could counterfeit, the three mendescended the stairs and crossed the road. Under the trees a fourth manjoined them--he who had lighted his pipe. 

"The coachman, Hippolyte, " he whispered, "bought an evening paper atthe front door of the house from a boy who came down the streetshouting the news. The coachman ran back into the house. "

"When was this?" asked Lemerre. 

The man pointed to a lad who leaned against the balustrade above thelake, hot and panting for breath. 

"He came on his bicycle. He has just arrived. "

"Follow me, " said Lemerre. 

Six yards from where they stood a couple of steps led down from theembankment on to a wooden landing-stage, where boats were moored. Lemerre, followed by the others, walked briskly down on to thelanding-stage. An electric launch was waiting. It had an awning and wasof the usual type which one hires at Geneva. There were two sergeantsin plain clothes on board, and a third man, whom Ricardo recognised. 

"That is the man who found out in whose shop the cord was bought, " hesaid to Hanaud. 

"Yes, it is Durette. He has been here since yesterday. "

Lemerre and the three who followed him stepped into it, and it backedaway from the stage and, turning, sped swiftly outwards from Geneva. The gay lights of the shops and the restaurants were left behind, thecool darkness enveloped them; a light breeze blew over the lake, atrail of white and tumbled water lengthened out behind and overhead, ina sky of deepest blue, the bright stars shone like gold. 

"If only we are in time!" said Hanaud, catching his breath. 

"Yes, " answered Lemerre; and in both their voices there was a strangenote of gravity. 

Lemerre gave a signal after a while, and the boat turned to the shoreand reduced its speed. They had passed the big villas. On the bank thegardens of houses--narrow, long gardens of a street of smallhouses--reached down to the lake, and to almost each garden there was arickety landing-stage of wood projecting into the lake. Again Lemerregave a signal, and the boat's speed was so much reduced that not asound of its coming could be heard. It moved over the water like ashadow, with not so much as a curl of white at its bows. 

Lemerre touched Hanaud on the shoulder and pointed to a house in a rowof houses. All the windows except two upon the second floor and oneupon the ground floor were in absolute darkness, and over those uppertwo the wooden shutters were closed. But in the shutters there werediamond-shaped holes, and from these holes two yellow beams of light, like glowing eyes upon the watch, streamed out and melted in the air. 

"You are sure that the front of the house is guarded?" asked Hanaudanxiously. 

"Yes, " replied Lemerre. 

Ricardo shivered with excitement. The launch slid noiselessly into thebank and lay hidden under its shadow. Hanaud turned to his associateswith his finger to his lips. Something gleamed darkly in his hand. Itwas the barrel of his revolver. Cautiously the men disembarked andcrept up the bank. First came Lemerre, then Hanaud; Ricardo followedhim, and the fourth man, who had struck the match under the trees, brought up the rear. The other three officers remained in the boat. 

Stooping under the shadow of the side wall of the garden, the invadersstole towards the house. When a bush rustled or a tree whispered in thelight wind, Ricardo's heart jumped to his throat. Once Lemerre stopped, as though his ears heard a sound which warned him of danger. Thencautiously he crept on again. The garden was a ragged place of unmownlawn and straggling bushes. Behind each one Mr. Ricardo seemed to feelan enemy. Never had he been in so strait a predicament. He, thecultured host of Grosvenor Square, was creeping along under a wall withContinental policemen; he was going to raid a sinister house by theLake of Geneva. It was thrilling. Fear and excitement gripped him inturn and let him go, but always he was sustained by the pride of theman doing an out-of-the-way thing. "If only my friends could see menow!" The ancient vanity was loud in his bosom. Poor fellows, they wereupon yachts in the Solent or on grouse-moors in Scotland, or ongolf-links at North Berwick. He alone of them all was trackingmalefactors to their doom by Leman's Lake. 

From these agreeable reflections Ricardo was shaken. Lemerre stopped. The raiders had reached the angle made by the side wall of the gardenand the house. A whisper was exchanged, and the party turned and movedalong the house wall towards the lighted window on the ground floor. AsLemerre reached it he stooped. Then slowly his forehead and his eyesrose above the sill and glanced this way and that into the room. Mr. Ricardo could see his eyes gleaming as the light from the window caughtthem. His face rose completely over the sill. He stared into the roomwithout care or apprehension, and then dropped again out of the reachof the light. He turned to Hanaud. 

"The room is empty, " he whispered. Hanaud turned to Ricardo. 

"Pass under the sill, or the light from the window will throw yourshadow upon the lawn. "

The party came to the back door of the house. Lemerre tried the handleof the door, and to his surprise it yielded. They crept into thepassage. The last man closed the door noiselessly, locked it, andremoved the key. A panel of light shone upon the wall a few pacesahead. The door of the lighted room was open. As Ricardo steppedsilently past it, he looked in. It was a parlour meanly furnished. Hanaud touched him on the arm and pointed to the table. 

Ricardo had seen the objects at which Hanaud pointed often enoughwithout uneasiness; but now, in this silent house of crime, they hadthe most sinister and appalling aspect. There was a tiny phial halffull of a dark-brown liquid, beside it a little leather case lay open, and across the case, ready for use or waiting to be filled, was abright morphia needle. Ricardo felt the cold creep along his spine, andshivered. 

"Come, " whispered Hanaud. 

They reached the foot of a flight of stairs, and cautiously mounted it. They came out in a passage which ran along the side of the house fromthe back to the front. It was unlighted, but they were now on the levelof the street, and a fan-shaped glass window over the front dooradmitted a pale light. There was a street lamp near to the door, Ricardo remembered. For by the light of it Marthe Gobin had seen CeliaHarland run so nimbly into this house. 

For a moment the men in the passage held their breath. Some one strodeheavily by on the pavement outside--to Mr. Ricardo's ear a mostcompanionable sound. Then a clock upon a church struck the half-hourmusically, distantly. It was half-past eight. And a second afterwards atiny bright light shone. Hanaud was directing the light of a pocketelectric torch to the next flight of stairs. 

Here the steps were carpeted, and once more the men crept up. One afteranother they came out upon the next landing. It ran, like those belowit, along the side of the house from the back to the front, and thedoors were all upon their left hand. From beneath the door nearest tothem a yellow line of light streamed out. 

They stood in the darkness listening. But not a sound came from behindthe door. Was this room empty, too? In each one's mind was the fearthat the birds had flown. Lemerre carefully took the handle of the doorand turned it. Very slowly and cautiously he opened the door. A stronglight beat out through the widening gap upon his face. And then, thoughhis feet did not move, his shoulders and his face drew back. The actionwas significant enough. This room, at all events, was not empty. But ofwhat Lemerre saw in the room his face gave no hint. He opened the doorwider, and now Hanaud saw. Ricardo, trembling with excitement, watchedhim. But again there was no expression of surprise, consternation, ordelight. He stood stolidly and watched. Then he turned to Ricardo, placed a finger on his lips, and made room. Ricardo crept on tiptoe tohis side. And now he too could look in. He saw a brightly lit bedroomwith a made bed. On his left were the shuttered windows overlooking thelake. On his right in the partition wall a door stood open. Through thedoor he could see a dark, windowless closet, with a small bed fromwhich the bedclothes hung and trailed upon the floor, as though someone had been but now roughly dragged from it. On a table, close by thedoor, lay a big green hat with a brown ostrich feather, and a whitecloak. But the amazing spectacle which kept him riveted was just infront of him. An old hag of a woman was sitting in a chair with herback towards them. She was mending with a big needle the holes in anold sack, and while she bent over her work she crooned to herself someFrench song. Every now and then she raised her eyes, for in front ofher, under her charge, Mlle. Celie, the girl of whom Hanaud was insearch, lay helpless upon a sofa. The train of her delicate green frockswept the floor. She was dressed as Helene Vauquier had described. Hergloved hands were tightly bound behind her back, her feet were crossedso that she could not have stood, and her ankles were cruelly strappedtogether. Over her face and eyes a piece of coarse sacking wasstretched like a mask, and the ends were roughly sewn together at theback of her head. She lay so still that, but for the labouring of herbosom and a tremor which now and again shook her limbs, the watcherswould have thought her dead. She made no struggle of resistance; shelay quiet and still. Once she writhed, but it was with the uneasinessof one in pain, and the moment she stirred the old woman's hand wentout to a bright aluminium flask which stood on a little table at herside. 

"Keep quiet, little one!" she ordered in a careless, chiding voice, andshe rapped with the flask peremptorily upon the table. Immediately, asthough the tapping had some strange message of terror for the girl'sear, she stiffened her whole body and lay rigid. 

"I am not ready for you yet, little fool, " said the old woman, and shebent again to her work. 

Ricardo's brain whirled. Here was the girl whom they had come toarrest, who had sprung from the salon with so much activity of youthacross the stretch of grass, who had run so quickly and lightly acrossthe pavement into this very house, so that she should not be seen. Andnow she was lying in her fine and delicate attire a captive, at themercy of the very people who were her accomplices. 

Suddenly a scream rang out in the garden--a shrill, loud scream, closebeneath the windows. The old woman sprang to her feet. The girl on thesofa raised her head. The old woman took a step towards the window, andthen she swiftly turned towards the door. She saw the men upon thethreshold. She uttered a bellow of rage. There is no other word todescribe the sound. It was not a human cry; it was the bellow of anangry animal. She reached out her hand towards the flask, but beforeshe could grasp it Hanaud seized her. She burst into a torrent of fouloaths. Hanaud flung her across to Lemerre's officer, who dragged herfrom the room. 

"Quick!" said Hanaud, pointing to the girl, who was now strugglinghelplessly upon the sofa. "Mlle. Celie!"

Ricardo cut the stitches of the sacking. Hanaud unstrapped her handsand feet. They helped her to sit up. She shook her hands in the air asthough they tortured her, and then, in a piteous, whimpering voice, like a child's, she babbled incoherently and whispered prayers. Suddenly the prayers ceased. She sat stiff, with eyes fixed andstaring. She was watching Lemerre, and she was watching him fascinatedwith terror. He was holding in his hand the large, bright aluminiumflask. He poured a little of the contents very carefully on to a pieceof the sack; and then with an exclamation of anger he turned towardsHanaud. But Hanaud was supporting Celia; and so, as Lemerre turnedabruptly towards him with the flask in his hand, he turned abruptlytowards Celia too. She wrenched herself from Hanaud's arms, she shrankviolently away. Her white face flushed scarlet and grew white again. She screamed loudly, terribly; and after the scream she uttered astrange, weak sigh, and so fell sideways in a swoon. Hanaud caught heras she fell. A light broke over his face. 

"Now I understand!" he cried. "Good God! That's horrible. "

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE HOUSE AT GENEVA

It was well, Mr. Ricardo thought, that some one understood. Forhimself, he frankly admitted that he did not. Indeed, in his view thefirst principles of reasoning seemed to be set at naught. It wasobvious from the solicitude with which Celia Harland was surroundedthat every one except himself was convinced of her innocence. Yet itwas equally obvious that any one who bore in mind the eight points hehad tabulated against her must be convinced of her guilt. Yet again, ifshe were guilty, how did it happen that she had been so mishandled byher accomplices? He was not allowed however, to reflect upon theseremarkable problems. He had too busy a time of it. At one moment he wasrunning to fetch water wherewith to bathe Celia's forehead. At another, when he had returned with the water, he was distracted by theappearance of Durette, the inspector from Aix, in the doorway. 

"We have them both, " he said--"Hippolyte and the woman. They werehiding in the garden. "

"So I thought, " said Hanaud, "when I saw the door open downstairs, andthe morphia-needle on the table. "

Lemerre turned to one of the officers. 

"Let them be taken with old Jeanne in cabs to the depot. "

And when the man had gone upon his errand Lemerre spoke to Hanaud. 

"You will stay here tonight to arrange for their transfer to Aix?"

"I will leave Durette behind, " said Hanaud. "I am needed at Aix. Wewill make a formal application for the prisoners. " He was kneeling byCelia's side and awkwardly dabbing her forehead with a wethandkerchief. He raised a warning hand. Celia Harland moved and openedher eyes. She sat up on the sofa, shivering, and looked with dazed andwondering eyes from one to another of the strangers who surrounded her. She searched in vain for a familiar face. 

"You are amongst good friends. Mlle. Celie, " said Hanaud with greatgentleness. 

"Oh, I wonder! I wonder!" she cried piteously. 

"Be very sure of it, " he said heartily, and she clung to the sleeve ofhis coat with desperate hands. 

"I suppose you are friends, " she said; "else why--?" and she moved hernumbed limbs to make certain that she was free. She looked about theroom. Her eyes fell upon the sack and widened with terror. 

"They came to me a little while ago in that cupboard there--Adele andthe old woman Jeanne. They made me get up. They told me they were goingto take me away. They brought my clothes and dressed me in everything Iwore when I came, so that no single trace of me might be left behind. Then they tied me. " She tore off her gloves and showed them herlacerated wrists. "I think they meant to kill me--horribly. " And shecaught her breath and whimpered like a child. Her spirit was broken. 

"My poor girl, all that is over, " said Hanaud. And he stood up. 

But at the first movement he made she cried incisively, "No, " andtightened the clutch of her fingers upon his sleeve. 

"But, mademoiselle, you are safe, " he said, with a smile. She stared athim stupidly. It seemed the words had no meaning for her. She would notlet him go. It was only the feel of his coat within the clutch of herfingers which gave her any comfort. 

"I want to be sure that I am safe, " she said, with a wan little smile. 

"Tell me, mademoiselle, what have you had to eat and drink during thelast two days?"

"Is it two days?" she asked. "I was in the dark there. I did not know. A little bread, a little water. "

"That's what is wrong, " said Hanaud. "Come, let us go from here!"

"Yes, yes!" Celia cried eagerly. She rose to her feet, and tottered. Hanaud put his arm about her. "You are very kind, " she said in a lowvoice, and again doubt looked out from her face and disappeared. "I amsure that I can trust you. "

Ricardo fetched her cloak and slipped it on her shoulders. Then hebrought her hat, and she pinned it on. She turned to Hanaud;unconsciously familiar words rose to her lips. 

"Is it straight?" she asked. And Hanaud laughed outright, and in amoment Celia smiled herself. 

Supported by Hanaud she stumbled down the stairs to the garden. As theypassed the open door of the lighted parlour at the back of the houseHanaud turned back to Lemerre and pointed silently to themorphia-needle and the phial. Lemerre nodded his head, and going intothe room took them away. They went out again into the garden. CeliaHarland threw back her head to the stars and drew in a deep breath ofthe cool night air. 

"I did not think, " she said in a low voice, "to see the stars again. "

They walked slowly down the length of the garden, and Hanaud lifted herinto the launch. She turned and caught his coat. 

"You must come too, " she said stubbornly. 

Hanaud sprang in beside her. 

"For tonight, " he said gaily, "I am your papa!"

Ricardo and the others followed, and the launch moved out over the lakeunder the stars. The bow was turned towards Geneva, the water tumbledbehind them like white fire, the night breeze blew fresh upon theirfaces. They disembarked at the landing-stage, and then Lemerre bowed toCelia and took his leave. Hanaud led Celia up on to the balcony of therestaurant and ordered supper. There were people still dining at thetables. 

One party indeed sitting late over their coffee Ricardo recognised witha kind of shock. They had taken their places, the very places in whichthey now sat, before he and Hanaud and Lemerre had left the restaurantupon their expedition of rescue. Into that short interval of time somuch that was eventful had been crowded. 

Hanaud leaned across the table to Celia and said in a low voice:

"Mademoiselle, if I may suggest it, it would be as well if you put onyour gloves; otherwise they may notice your wrists. "

Celia followed his advice. She ate some food and drank a glass ofchampagne. A little colour returned to her cheeks. 

"You are very kind to me, you and monsieur your friend, " she said, witha smile towards Ricardo. "But for you--" and her voice shook. 

"Hush!" said Hanaud--"all that is over; we will not speak of it. "

Celia looked out across the road on to the trees, of which the darkfoliage was brightened and made pale by the lights of the restaurant. Out on the water some one was singing. 

"It seems impossible to me, " she said in a low voice, "that I am here, in the open air, and free. "

Hanaud looked at his watch. 

"Mlle. Celie, it is past ten o'clock. M. Ricardo's car is waiting thereunder the trees. I want you to drive back to Aix. I have taken roomsfor you at an hotel, and there will be a nurse from the hospital tolook after you. "

"Thank you, monsieur, " she said; "you have thought of everything. But Ishall not need a nurse. "

"But you will have a nurse, " said Hanaud firmly. "You feel strongernow--yes, but when you lay your head upon your pillow, mademoiselle, itwill be a comfort to you to know that you have her within call. And ina day or two, " he added gently, "you will perhaps be able to tell uswhat happened on Tuesday night at the Villa Rose?"

Celia covered her face with her hands for a few moments. Then she drewthem away and said simply:

"Yes, monsieur, I will tell you. "

Hanaud bowed to her with a genuine deference. 

"Thank you, mademoiselle, " he said, and in his voice there was a strongring of sympathy. 

They went downstairs and entered Ricardo's motor car. 

"I want to send a telephone message, " said Hanaud, "if you will waithere. "

"No!" cried Celia decisively, and she again laid hold of his coat, witha pretty imperiousness, as though he belonged to her. 

"But I must, " said Hanaud with a laugh. 

"Then I will come too, " said Celia, and she opened the door and set afoot upon the step. 

"You will not, mademoiselle, " said Hanaud, with a laugh. "Will you takeyour foot back into that car? That is better. Now you will sit withyour friend, M. Ricardo, whom, by the way, I have not yet introduced toyou. He is a very good friend of yours, mademoiselle, and will in thefuture be a still better one. "

Ricardo felt his conscience rather heavy within him, for he had comeout to Geneva with the fixed intention of arresting her as a mostdangerous criminal. Even now he could not understand how she could beinnocent of a share in Mme. Dauvray's murder. But Hanaud evidentlythought she was. And since Hanaud thought so, why, it was better to saynothing if one was sensitive to gibes. So Ricardo sat and talked withher while Hanaud ran back into the restaurant. It mattered very little, however, what he said, for Celia's eyes were fixed upon the doorwaythrough which Hanaud had disappeared. And when he came back she wasquick to turn the handle of the door. 

"Now, mademoiselle, we will wrap you up in M. Ricardo's sparemotor-coat and cover your knees with a rug and put you between us, andthen you can go to sleep. "

The car sped through the streets of Geneva. Celia Harland, with alittle sigh of relief, nestled down between the two men. 

"If I knew you better, " she said to Hanaud, "I should tell you--what, of course, I do not tell you now--that I feel as if I had a bigNewfoundland dog with me. "

"Mlle. Celie, " said Hanaud, and his voice told her that he was moved, "that is a very pretty thing which you have said to me. "

The lights of the city fell away behind them. Now only a glow in thesky spoke of Geneva; now even that was gone and with a smoothcontinuous purr the car raced through the cool darkness. The great headlamps threw a bright circle of light before them and the road slippedaway beneath the wheels like a running tide. Celia fell asleep. Evenwhen the car stopped at the Pont de La Caille she did not waken. Thedoor was opened, a search for contraband was made, the book was signed, still she did not wake. The car sped on. 

"You see, coming into France is a different affair, " said Hanaud. 

"Yes, " replied Ricardo. 

"Still, I will own it, you caught me napping yesterday. 

"I did?" exclaimed Ricardo joyfully. 

"You did, " returned Hanaud. "I had never heard of the Pont de LaCaille. But you will not mention it? You will not ruin me?"

"I will not, " answered. M. Ricardo, superb in his magnanimity. "You area good detective. "

"Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Hanaud in a voice which shook--surelywith emotion. He wrung Ricardo's hand. He wiped an imaginary tear fromhis eye. 

And still Celia slept. M. Ricardo looked at her. He said to Hanaud in awhisper:

"Yet I do not understand. The car, though no serious search was made, must still have stopped at the Pont de La Caille on the Swiss side. Whydid she not cry for help then? One cry and she was safe. A movementeven was enough. Do you understand?"

Hanaud nodded his head. 

"I think so, " he answered, with a very gentle look at Celia. "Yes, Ithink so. "

When Celia was aroused she found that the car had stopped before thedoor of an hotel, and that a woman in the dress of a nurse was standingin the doorway. 

"You can trust Marie, " said Hanaud. And Celia turned as she stood uponthe ground and gave her hands to the two men. 

"Thank you! Thank you both!" she said in a trembling voice. She lookedat Hanaud and nodded her head. "You understand why I thank you so verymuch?"

"Yes, " said Hanaud. "But, mademoiselle"--and he bent over the car andspoke to her quietly, holding her hand--"there is ALWAYS a bigNewfoundland dog in the worst of troubles--if only you will look forhim. I tell you so--I, who belong to the Surete in Paris. Do not loseheart!" And in his mind he added: "God forgive me for the lie. " Heshook her hand and let it go; and gathering up her skirt she went intothe hall of the hotel. 

Hanaud watched her as she went. She was to him a lonely and patheticcreature, in spite of the nurse who bore her company. 

"You must be a good friend to that young girl, M. Ricardo, " he said. "Let us drive to your hotel. "

"Yes, " said Ricardo. And as they went the curiosity which all the wayfrom Geneva had been smouldering within him burst into flame. 

"Will you explain to me one thing?" he asked. "When the scream camefrom the garden you were not surprised. Indeed, you said that when yousaw the open door and the morphia-needle on the table of the littleroom downstairs you thought Adele and the man Hippolyte were hiding inthe garden. "

"Yes, I did think so. "

"Why? And why did the publication that the jewels had been discoveredso alarm you?"

"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Did not you understand that? Yet it is surely clearand obvious, if you once grant that the girl was innocent, was awitness of the crime, and was now in the hands of the criminals. Grantme those premisses, M. Ricardo, for a moment, and you will see that wehad just one chance of finding the girl alive in Geneva. From the firstI was sure of that. What was the one chance? Why, this! She might bekept alive on the chance that she could be forced to tell what, by theway, she did not know, namely, the place where Mme. Dauvray's valuablejewels were secreted. Now, follow this. We, the police, find the jewelsand take charge of them. Let that news reach the house in Geneva, andon the same night Mlle. Celie loses her life, and not--very pleasantly. They have no further use for her. She is merely a danger to them. So Itake my precautions--never mind for the moment what they were. I takecare that if the murderer is in Aix and gets wind of our discovery heshall not be able to communicate his news. "

"The Post Office would have stopped letters or telegrams, " saidRicardo. "I understand. "

"On the contrary, " replied Hanaud. "No, I took my precautions, whichwere of quite a different kind, before I knew the house in Geneva orthe name of Rossignol. But one way of communication I did not think of. I did not think of the possibility that the news might be sent to anewspaper, which of course would publish it and cry it through thestreets of Geneva. The moment I heard the news I knew we must hurry. The garden of the house ran down to the lake. A means of disposing ofMlle. Celie was close at hand. And the night had fallen. As it was, wearrived just in time, and no earlier than just in time. The paper hadbeen bought, the message had reached the house, Mlle. Celie was nolonger of any use, and every hour she stayed in that house was ofcourse an hour of danger to her captors. "

"What were they going to do?" asked Ricardo. 

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders. 

"It is not pretty--what they were going to do. We reach the garden inour launch. At that moment Hippolyte and Adele, who is most likelyHippolyte's wife, are in the lighted parlour on the basement floor. Adele is preparing her morphia-needle. Hippolyte is going to get readythe rowing-boat which was tied at the end of the landing-stage. Quietlyas we came into the bank, they heard or saw us. They ran out and hid inthe garden, having no time to lock the garden door, or perhaps notdaring to lock it lest the sound of the key should reach our ears. Wefind that door upon the latch, the door of the room open; on the tablelies the morphia-needle. Upstairs lies Mlle. Celie--she is helpless, she cannot see what they are meaning to do. "

"But she could cry out, " exclaimed Ricardo. "She did not even do that!"

"No, my friend, she could not cry out, " replied Hanaud very seriously. "I know why. She could not. No living man or woman could. Rest assuredof that!"

Ricardo was mystified; but since the captain of the ship would not showhis observation, he knew it would be in vain to press him. 

"Well, while Adele was preparing her morphia-needle and Hippolyte wasabout to prepare the boat, Jeanne upstairs was making her preparationtoo. She was mending a sack. Did you see Mlle. Celie's eyes and facewhen first she saw that sack? Ah! she understood! They meant to giveher a dose of morphia, and, as soon as she became unconscious, theywere going perhaps to take some terrible precaution--" Hanaud pausedfor a second. "I only say perhaps as to that. But certainly they weregoing to sew her up in that sack, row her well out across the lake, fixa weight to her feet, and drop her quietly overboard. She was to weareverything which she had brought with her to the house. Mlle. Celiewould have disappeared for ever, and left not even a ripple upon thewater to trace her by!"

Ricardo clenched his hands. 

"But that's horrible!" he cried; and as he uttered the words the carswerved into the drive and stopped before the door of the HotelMajestic. 

Ricardo sprang out. A feeling of remorse seized hold of him. Allthrough that evening he had not given one thought to Harry Wethermill, so utterly had the excitement of each moment engrossed his mind. 

"He will be glad to know!" cried Ricardo. "Tonight, at all events, heshall sleep. I ought to have telegraphed to him from Geneva that we andMiss Celia were coming back. " He ran up the steps into the hotel. 

"I took care that he should know, " said Hanaud, as he followed inRicardo's steps. 

"Then the message could not have reached him, else he would have beenexpecting us, " replied Ricardo, as he hurried into the office, where aclerk sat at his books. 

"Is Mr. Wethermill in?" he asked. 

The clerk eyed him strangely. 

"Mr. Wethermill was arrested this evening, " he said. 

Ricardo stepped back. 

"Arrested! When?"

"At twenty-five minutes past ten, " replied the clerk shortly. 

"Ah, " said Hanaud quietly. "That was my telephone message. "

Ricardo stared in stupefaction at his companion. 

"Arrested!" he cried. "Arrested! But what for?"

"For the murders of Marthe Gobin and Mme. Dauvray, " said Hanaud. "Good-night. "

CHAPTER XIV

MR. RICARDO IS BEWILDERED

Ricardo passed a most tempestuous night. He was tossed amongst darkproblems. Now it was Harry Wethermill who beset him. He repeated andrepeated the name, trying to grasp the new and sinister suggestionwhich, if Hanaud were right, its sound must henceforth bear. Of courseHanaud might be wrong. Only, if he were wrong, how had he come tosuspect Harry Wethermill? What had first directed his thoughts to thatseemingly heart-broken man? And when? Certain recollections becamevivid in Mr. Ricardo's mind--the luncheon at the Villa Rose, forinstance. Hanaud had been so insistent that the woman with the red hairwas to be found in Geneva, had so clearly laid it down that a message, a telegram, a letter from Aix to Geneva, would enable him to lay hishands upon the murderer in Aix. He was isolating the house in Genevaeven so early in the history of his investigations, even so soon hesuspected Harry Wethermill. Brains and audacity--yes, these twoqualities he had stipulated in the criminal. Ricardo now for the firsttime understood the trend of all Hanaud's talk at that luncheon. He wasputting Harry Wethermill upon his guard, he was immobilising him, hewas fettering him in precautions; with a subtle skill he was forcinghim to isolate himself. And he was doing it deliberately to save thelife of Celia Harland in Geneva. Once Ricardo lifted himself up withthe hair stirring on his scalp. He himself had been with Wethermill inthe baccarat-rooms on the very night of the murder. They had walkedtogether up the hill to the hotel. It could not be that HarryWethermill was guilty. And yet, he suddenly remembered, they hadtogether left the rooms at an early hour. It was only ten o'clock whenthey had separated in the hall, when they had gone, each to his ownroom. There would have been time for Wethermill to reach the Villa Roseand do his dreadful work upon that night before twelve, if all had beenarranged beforehand, if all went as it had been arranged. And as hethought upon the careful planning of that crime, and rememberedWethermill's easy chatter as they had strolled from table to table inthe Villa des Fleurs, Ricardo shuddered. Though he encouraged a tastefor the bizarre, it was with an effort. He was naturally of an orderlymind, and to touch the eerie or inhuman caused him a physicaldiscomfort. So now he marvelled in a great uneasiness at the calmplacidity with which Wethermill had talked, his arm in his, while theload of so dark a crime to be committed within the hour lay upon hismind. Each minute he must have been thinking, with a swift spasm of theheart, "Should such a precaution fail--should such or such anunforeseen thing intervene, " yet there had been never a sign ofdisturbance, never a hint of any disquietude. 

Then Ricardo's thoughts turned as he tossed upon his bed to CeliaHarland, a tragic and a lonely figure. He recalled the look oftenderness upon her face when her eyes had met Harry Wethermill'sacross the baccarat-table in the Villa des Fleurs. He gained someinsight into the reason why she had clung so desperately to Hanaud'scoat-sleeve yesterday. Not merely had he saved her life. She was lyingwith all her world of trust and illusion broken about her, and Hanaudhad raised her up. She had found some one whom she trusted--the bigNewfoundland dog, as she expressed it. Mr. Ricardo was still thinkingof Celia Harland when the morning came. He fell asleep, and awoke tofind Hanaud by his bed. 

"You will be wanted today, " said Hanaud. 

Ricardo got up and walked down from the hotel with the detective. Thefront door faces the hillside of Mont Revard, and on this side Mr. Ricardo's rooms looked out. The drive from the front door curves roundthe end of the long building and joins the road, which then winds downtowards the town past the garden at the back of the hotel. Down thisroad the two men walked, while the supporting wall of the garden upontheir right hand grew higher and higher above their heads. They came toa steep flight of steps which makes a short cut from the hotel to theroad, and at the steps Hanaud stopped. 

"Do you see?" he said. "On the opposite side there are no houses; thereis only a wall. Behind the wall there are climbing gardens and theground falls steeply to the turn of the road below. There's a flight ofsteps leading down which corresponds with the flight of steps from thegarden. Very often there's a serjent-de-ville stationed on the top ofthe steps. But there was not one there yesterday afternoon at three. Behind us is the supporting wall of the hotel garden. Well, look aboutyou. We cannot be seen from the hotel. There's not a soul insight--yes, there's some one coming up the hill, but we have beenstanding here quite long enough for you to stab me and get back to yourcoffee on the verandah of the hotel. "

Ricardo started back. 

"Marthe Gobin!" he cried. "It was here, then?"

Hanaud nodded. 

"When we returned from the station in your motor-car and went up toyour rooms we passed Harry Wethermill sitting upon the verandah overthe garden drinking his coffee. He had the news then that Marthe Gobinwas on her way. "

"But you had isolated the house in Geneva. How could he have the news?"exclaimed Ricardo, whose brain was whirling. 

"I had isolated the house from him, in the sense that he dared notcommunicate with his accomplices. That is what you have to remember. Hecould not even let them know that they must not communicate with him. So he received a telegram. It was carefully worded. No doubt he hadarranged the wording of any message with the care which was used in allthe preparations. It ran like this"--and Hanaud took a scrap of paperfrom his pocket and read out from it a copy of the telegram: "'Agentarrives Aix 3. 7 to negotiate purchase of your patent. ' The telegram washanded in at Geneva station at 12. 45, five minutes after the train hadleft which carried Marthe Gobin to Aix. And more, it was handed in by aman strongly resembling Hippolyte Tace--that we know. "

"That was madness, " said Ricardo. 

"But what else could they do over there in Geneva? They did not knowthat Harry Wethermill was suspected. Harry Wethermill had no idea of ithimself. But, even if they had known, they must take the risk. Putyourself into their place for a moment. They had seen my advertisementabout Celie Harland in the Geneva paper. Marthe Gobin, that busybodywho was always watching her neighbours, was no doubt watched herself. They see her leave the house, an unusual proceeding for her with herhusband ill, as her own letter tells us. Hippolyte follows her to thestation, sees her take her ticket to Aix and mount into the train. Hemust guess at once that she saw Celie Harland enter their house, thatshe is travelling to Aix with the information of her whereabouts. Atall costs she must be prevented from giving that information. At allrisks, therefore, the warning telegram must be sent to HarryWethermill. "

Ricardo recognised the force of the argument. 

"If only you had heard of the telegram yesterday in time!" he cried. 

"Ah, yes!" Hanaud agreed. "But it was only sent off at a quarter toone. It was delivered to Wethermill and a copy was sent to thePrefecture, but the telegram was delivered first. "

"When was it delivered to Wethermill?" asked Ricardo. 

"At three. We had already left for the station. Wethermill was sittingon the verandah. The telegram was brought to him there. It was broughtby a waiter in the hotel who remembers the incident very well. Wethermill has seven minutes and the time it will take for Marthe Gobinto drive from the station to the Majestic. What does he do? He runs upfirst to your rooms, very likely not yet knowing what he must do. Heruns up to verify his telegram. "

"Are you sure of that?" cried Ricardo. "How can you be? You were at thestation with me. What makes you sure?"

Hanaud produced a brown kid glove from his pocket. 

"This. "

"That is your glove; you told me so yesterday. "

"I told you so, " replied Hanaud calmly; "but it is not my glove. It isWethermill's; there are his initials stamped upon the lining--see? Ipicked up that glove in your room, after we had returned from thestation. It was not there before. He went to your rooms. No doubt hesearched for a telegram. Fortunately he did not examine your letters, or Marthe Gobin would never have spoken to us as she did after she wasdead. "

"Then what did he do?" asked Ricardo eagerly; and, though Hanaud hadbeen with him at the entrance to the station all this while, he askedthe question in absolute confidence that the true answer would be givento him. 

"He returned to the verandah wondering what he should do. He saw uscome back from the station in the motor-car and go up to your room. Wewere alone. Marthe Gobin, then, was following. There was his chance. Marthe Gobin must not reach us, must not tell her news to us. He randown the garden steps to the gate. No one could see him from the hotel. Very likely he hid behind the trees, whence he could watch the road. Acab comes up the hill; there's a woman in it--not quite the kind ofwoman who stays at your hotel, M. Ricardo. Yet she must be going toyour hotel, for the road ends. The driver is nodding on his box, refusing to pay any heed to his fare lest again she should bid himhurry. His horse is moving at a walk. Wethermill puts his head in atthe window and asks if she has come to see M. Ricardo. Anxious for herfour thousand francs, she answers 'Yes. ' Perhaps he steps into the cab, perhaps as he walks by the side he strikes, and strikes hard andstrikes surely. Long before the cab reaches the hotel he is back againon the verandah. "

"Yes, " said Ricardo, "it's the daring of which you spoke which made thecrime possible--the same daring which made him seek your help. That wasunexampled. "

"No, " replied Hanaud. "There's an historic crime in your own country, monsieur. Cries for help were heard in a by-street of a town. Whenpeople ran to answer them, a man was found kneeling by a corpse. It wasthe kneeling man who cried for help, but it was also the kneeling manwho did the murder. I remembered that when I first began to suspectHarry Wethermill. "

Ricardo turned eagerly. 

"And when--when did you first begin to suspect Harry Wethermill?"

Hanaud smiled and shook his head. 

"That you shall know in good time. I am the captain of the ship. " Hisvoice took on a deeper note. "But I prepare you. Listen! Daring andbrains, those were the property of Harry Wethermill--yes. But it is nothe who is the chief actor in the crime. Of that I am sure. He was nomore than one of the instruments. "

"One of the instruments? Used, then, by whom?" asked Ricardo. 

"By my Normandy peasant-woman, M. Ricardo, " said Hanaud. "Yes, there'sthe dominating figure--cruel, masterful, relentless--that strangewoman, Helene Vauquier. You are surprised? You will see! It is not theman of intellect and daring; it's my peasant-woman who is at the bottomof it all. "

"But she's free!" exclaimed Ricardo. "You let her go free!"

"Free!" repeated Ricardo. "She was driven straight from the Villa Roseto the depot. She has been kept au secret ever since. "

Ricardo stared in amazement. 

"Already you knew of her guilt?"

"Already she had lied to me in her description of Adele Rossignol. Doyou remember what she said--a black-haired woman with beady eyes; and Ionly five minutes before had picked up from the table--this. "

He opened his pocket-book, and took from an envelope a long strand ofred hair. 

"But it was not only because she lied that I had her taken to thedepot. A pot of cold cream had disappeared from the room of Mlle Celie. "

"Then Perrichet after all was right. "

"Perrichet after all was quite wrong--not to hold his tongue. For inthat pot of cold cream, as I was sure, were hidden those valuablediamond earrings which Mlle. Celie habitually wore. "

The two men had reached the square in front of the Etablissement desBains. Ricardo dropped on to a bench and wiped his forehead. 

"But I am in a maze, " he cried. "My head turns round. I don't knowwhere I am. "

Hanaud stood in front of Ricardo, smiling. He was not displeased withhis companion's bewilderment; it was all so much of tribute to himself. 

"I am the captain of the ship, " he said. 

His smile irritated Ricardo, who spoke impatiently. 

"I should be very glad, " he said, "if you would tell me how youdiscovered all these things. And what it was that the little salon onthe first morning had to tell to you? And why Celia Harland ran fromthe glass doors across the grass to the motor-car and again from thecarriage into the house on the lake? Why she did not resist yesterdayevening? Why she did not cry for help? How much of Helene Vauquier'sevidence was true and how much false? For what reason Wethermillconcerned himself in this affair? Oh! and a thousand things which Idon't understand. "

"Ah, the cushions, and the scrap of paper, and the aluminium flask, "said Hanaud; and the triumph faded from his face. He spoke now toRicardo with a genuine friendliness. "You must not be angry with me ifI keep you in the dark for a little while. I, too, Mr. Ricardo, haveartistic inclinations. I will not spoil the remarkable story which Ithink Mlle. Celie will be ready to tell us. Afterwards I will willinglyexplain to you what I read in the evidences of the room, and what sogreatly puzzled me then. But it is not the puzzle or its solution, " hesaid modestly, "which is most interesting here. Consider the people. Mme. Dauvray, the old, rich, ignorant woman, with her superstitions andher generosity, her desire to converse with Mme. De Montespan and thegreat ladies of the past, and her love of a young, fresh face abouther; Helene Vauquier, the maid with her six years of confidentialservice, who finds herself suddenly supplanted and made to tend anddress in dainty frocks the girl who has supplanted her; the young girlherself, that poor child, with her love of fine clothes, the Bohemianwho, brought up amidst trickeries and practising them as a profession, looking upon them and upon misery and starvation and despair as thecommonplaces of life, keeps a simplicity and a delicacy and a freshnesswhich would have withered in a day had she been brought up otherwise;Harry Wethermill, the courted and successful man of genius. 

"Just imagine if you can what his feelings must have been, when in Mme. Dauvray's bedroom, with the woman he had uselessly murdered lying rigidbeneath the sheet, he saw me raise the block of wood from the inlaidfloor and take out one by one those jewel cases for which less thantwelve hours before he had been ransacking that very room. But what hemust have felt! And to give no sign! Oh, these people are theinteresting problems in this story. Let us hear what happened on thatterrible night. The puzzle--that can wait. " In Mr. Ricardo's viewHanaud was proved right. The extraordinary and appalling story whichwas gradually unrolled of what had happened on that night of Tuesday inthe Villa Rose exceeded in its grim interest all the mystery of thepuzzle. But it was not told at once. 

The trouble at first with Mlle. Celie was a fear of sleep. She darednot sleep--even with a light in the room and a nurse at her bedside. When her eyes were actually closing she would force herself desperatelyback into the living world. For when she slept she dreamed throughagain that dark and dreadful night of Tuesday and the two days whichfollowed it, until at some moment endurance snapped and she woke upscreaming. But youth, a good constitution, and a healthy appetite hadtheir way with her in the end. 

She told her share of the story--she told what happened. There wasapparently one terrible scene when she was confronted with HarryWethermill in the office of Monsieur Fleuriot, the Juge d'lnstruction, and on her knees, with the tears streaming down her face, besought himto confess the truth. For a long while he held out. And then there camea strange and human turn to the affair. Adele Rossignol--or, to giveher real name, Adele Tace, the wife of Hippolyte--had conceived averitable passion for Harry Wethermill. He was of a not uncommon type, cold and callous in himself, yet with the power to provoke passion inwomen. And Adele Tace, as the story was told of how Harry Wethermillhad paid his court to Celia Harland, was seized with a vindictivejealousy. Hanaud was not surprised. He knew the woman-criminal of hiscountry--brutal, passionate, treacherous. The anonymous letters in awoman's handwriting which descend upon the Rue de Jerusalem, and betraythe men who have committed thefts, had left him no illusions upon thatfigure in the history of crime. Adele Rossignol ran forward to confess, so that Harry Wethermill might suffer to the last possible point ofsuffering. Then at last Wethermill gave in and, broken down by theceaseless interrogations of the magistrate, confessed in his turn too. The one, and the only one, who stood firmly throughout and denied thecrime was Helene Vauquier. Her thin lips were kept contemptuouslyclosed, whatever the others might admit. With a white, hard face, quietly and respectfully she faced the magistrate week after week. Shewas the perfect picture of a servant who knew her place. And nothingwas wrung from her. But without her help the story became complete. AndRicardo was at pains to write it out. 

CHAPTER XV

CELIA'S STORY

The story begins with the explanation of that circumstance which hadgreatly puzzled Mr. Ricardo--Celia's entry into the household of Mme. Dauvray. 

Celia's father was a Captain Harland, of a marching regiment, who hadlittle beyond good looks and excellent manners wherewith to support hisposition. He was extravagant in his tastes, and of an easy mind in thepresence of embarrassments. To his other disadvantages he added that offalling in love with a pretty girl no better off than himself. Theymarried, and Celia was born. For nine years they managed, through thewife's constant devotion, to struggle along and to give their daughteran education. Then, however, Celia's mother broke down under the strainand died. Captain Harland, a couple of years later, went out of theservice with discredit, passed through the bankruptcy court, and turnedshowman. His line was thought-reading; he enlisted the services of hisdaughter, taught her the tricks of his trade, and became "The GreatFortinbras" of the music-halls. Captain Harland would move amongst theaudience, asking the spectators in a whisper to think of a number or ofan article in their pockets, after the usual fashion, while the child, in her short frock, with her long fair hair tied back with a ribbon, would stand blind-folded upon the platform and reel off the answerswith astonishing rapidity. She was singularly quick, singularlyreceptive. 

The undoubted cleverness of the performance, and the beauty of thechild, brought to them a temporary prosperity. The Great Fortinbrasrose from the music-halls to the assembly rooms of provincial towns. The performance became genteel, and ladies flocked to the matinees. 

The Great Fortinbras dropped his pseudonym and became once more CaptainHarland. 

As Celia grew up, he tried a yet higher flight--he became aspiritualist, with Celia for his medium. The thought-readingentertainments became thrilling seances, and the beautiful child, nowgrown into a beautiful girl of seventeen, created a greater sensationas a medium in a trance than she had done as a lightning thought-reader. 

"I saw no harm in it, " Celia explained to M. Fleuriot, without anyattempt at extenuation. "I never understood that we might be doing anyhurt to any one. People were interested. They were to find us out ifthey could, and they tried to and they couldn't. I looked upon it quitesimply in that way. It was just my profession. I accepted it withoutany question. I was not troubled about it until I came to Aix. "

A startling exposure, however, at Cambridge discredited the craze forspiritualism, and Captain Harland's fortunes declined. He crossed withhis daughter to France and made a disastrous tour in that country, wasted the last of his resources in the Casino at Dieppe, and died inthat town, leaving Celia just enough money to bury him and to pay herthird-class fare to Paris. 

There she lived honestly but miserably. The slimness of her figure anda grace of movement which was particularly hers obtained her at last asituation as a mannequin in the show-rooms of a modiste. She took aroom on the top floor of a house in the Rue St. Honore and settled downto a hard and penurious life. 

"I was not happy or contented--no, " said Celia frankly and decisively. "The long hours in the close rooms gave me headaches and made menervous. I had not the temperament. And I was very lonely--my life hadbeen so different. I had had fresh air, good clothes, and freedom. Nowall was changed. I used to cry myself to sleep up in my little room, wondering whether I would ever have friends. You see, I was quiteyoung--only eighteen--and I wanted to live. "

A change came in a few months, but a disastrous change. The modistefailed. Celia was thrown out of work, and could get nothing to do. Gradually she pawned what clothes she could spare; and then there camea morning when she had a single five-franc piece in the world and oweda month's rent for her room. She kept the five-franc piece all day andwent hungry, seeking for work. In the evening she went to a provisionshop to buy food, and the man behind the counter took the five-francpiece. He looked at it, rung it on the counter, and, with a laugh, bentit easily in half. 

"See here, my little one, " he said, tossing the coin back to her, "onedoes not buy good food with lead. "

Celia dragged herself out of the shop in despair. She was starving. Shedared not go back to her room. The thought of the concierge at thebottom of the stairs, insistent for the rent, frightened her. She stoodon the pavement and burst into tears. A few people stopped and watchedher curiously, and went on again. Finally a sergent-de-ville told herto go away. 

The girl moved on with the tears running down her cheeks. She wasdesperate, she was lonely. 

"I thought of throwing myself into the Seine, " said Celia simply, intelling her story to the Juge d'Instruction. "Indeed, I went to theriver. But the water looked so cold, so terrible, and I was young. Iwanted so much to live. And then--the night came, and the lights madethe city bright, and I was very tired and--and--"

And, in a word, the young girl went up to Montmartre in desperation, asquickly as her tired legs would carry her. She walked once or twicetimidly past the restaurants, and, finally, entered one of them, hopingthat some one would take pity on her and give her some supper. Shestood just within the door of the supper-room. People pushed pasther--men in evening dress, women in bright frocks and jewels. No onenoticed her. She had shrunk into a corner, rather hoping not to benoticed, now that she had come. But the novelty of her surroundingswore off. She knew that for want of food she was almost fainting. Therewere two girls engaged by the management to dance amongst the tableswhile people had supper--one dressed as a page in blue satin, and theother as a Spanish dancer. Both girls were kind. They spoke to Celiabetween their dances. They let her waltz with them. Still no onenoticed her. She had no jewels, no fine clothes, no chic--the threeindispensable things. She had only youth and a pretty face. 

"But, " said Celia, "without jewels and fine clothes and chic these gofor nothing in Paris. At last, however, Mme. Dauvray came in with aparty of friends from a theatre, and saw how unhappy I was, and gave mesome supper. She asked me about myself, and I told her. She was verykind, and took me home with her, and I cried all the way in thecarriage. She kept me a few days, and then she told me that I was tolive with her, for often she was lonely too, and that if I would shewould some day find me a nice, comfortable husband and give me amarriage portion. So all my troubles seemed to be at an end, " saidCelia, with a smile. 

Within a fortnight Mme. Dauvray confided to Celia that there was a newfortune-teller come to Paris, who, by looking into a crystal, couldtell the most wonderful things about the future. The old woman's eyeskindled as she spoke. She took Celia to the fortune-teller's rooms nextday, and the girl quickly understood the ruling passion of the womanwho had befriended her. It took very little time then for Celia tonotice how easily Mme. Dauvray was duped, how perpetually she wasrobbed. Celia turned the problem over in her mind. 

"Madame had been very good to me. She was kind and simple, " said Celia, with a very genuine affection in her voice. "The people whom we knewlaughed at her, and were ungenerous. But there are many women whom theworld respects who are worse than ever was poor Mme. Dauvray. I wasvery fond of her, so I proposed to her that we should hold a seance, and I would bring people from the spirit world I knew that I couldamuse her with something much more clever and more interesting than thefortune-tellers. And at the same time I could save her from beingplundered. That was all I thought about. "

That was all she thought about, yes. She left Helene Vauquier out ofher calculations, and she did not foresee the effect of her stancesupon Mme. Dauvray. Celia had no suspicions of Helene Vauquier. Shewould have laughed if any one had told her that this respectable andrespectful middle-aged woman, who was so attentive, so neat, sograteful for any kindness, was really nursing a rancorous hatredagainst her. Celia had sprung from Montmartre suddenly; thereforeHelene Vauquier despised her. Celia had taken her place in Mme. Dauvray's confidence, had deposed her unwittingly, had turned theconfidential friend into a mere servant; therefore Helene Vauquierhated her. And her hatred reached out beyond the girl, and embraced theold, superstitious, foolish woman, whom a young and pretty face couldso easily beguile. Helene Vauquier despised them both, hated them both, and yet must nurse her rancour in silence and futility. Then came theseances, and at once, to add fuel to her hatred, she found herselfstripped of those gifts and commissions which she had exacted from theherd of common tricksters who had been wont to make their harvest outof Mme. Dauvray. Helene Vauquier was avaricious and greedy, like somany of her class. Her hatred of Celia, her contempt for Mme. Dauvray, grew into a very delirium. But it was a delirium she had the cunning toconceal. She lived at white heat, but to all the world she had lostnothing of her calm. 

Celia did not foresee the hatred she was arousing; nor, on the otherhand, did she foresee the overwhelming effect of these spiritualisticseances on Mme. Dauvray. Celia had never been brought quite close tothe credulous before. 

"There had always been the row of footlights, " she said. "I was on theplatform; the audience was in the hall; or, if it was at a house, myfather made the arrangements. I only came in at the last moment, playedmy part, and went away. It was never brought home to me that someamongst these people really and truly believed. I did not think aboutit. Now, however, when I saw Mme. Dauvray so feverish, so excited, sofirmly convinced that great ladies from the spirit world came and spoketo her, I became terrified. I had aroused a passion which I had notsuspected. I tried to stop the seances, but I was not allowed. I hadaroused a passion which I could not control. I was afraid that Mme. Dauvray's whole life--it seems absurd to those who did not know her, but those who did will understand--yes, her whole life and happinesswould be spoilt if she discovered that what she believed in was all atrick. "

She spoke with a simplicity and a remorse which it was difficult todisbelieve. M. Fleuriot, the judge, now at last convinced that theDreyfus affair was for nothing in the history of this crime, listenedto her with sympathy. 

"That is your explanation, mademoiselle, " he said gently. "But I musttell you that we have another. "

"Yes, monsieur?" Celia asked. 

"Given by Helene Vauquier, " said Fleuriot. 

Even after these days Celia could not hear that woman's name without ashudder of fear and a flinching of her whole body. Her face grew white, her lips dry. 

"I know, monsieur, that Helene Vauquier is not my friend, " she said. "Iwas taught that very cruelly. "

"Listen, mademoiselle, to what she says, " said the judge, and he readout to Celia an extract or two from Hanaud's report of his firstinterview with Helene Vauquier in her bedroom at the Villa Rose. 

"You hear what she says. 'Mme. Dauvray would have had seances all day, but Mlle. Celie pleaded that she was left exhausted at the end of them. But Mlle. Celie was of an address. ' And again, speaking of Mme. Dauvray's queer craze that the spirit of Mme. De Montespan should becalled up, Helene Vauquier says: 'She was never gratified. Always shehoped. Always Mlle. Celie tantalised her with the hope. She would notspoil her fine affairs by making these treats too common. ' Thus sheattributes your reluctance to multiply your experiments to a desire tomake the most profit possible out of your wares, like a good businesswoman. "

"It is not true, monsieur, " cried Celia earnestly. "I tried to stop theseances because now for the first time I recognised that I had beenplaying with a dangerous thing. It was a revelation to me. I did notknow what to do. Mme. Dauvray would promise me everything, give meeverything, if only I would consent when I refused. I was terriblyfrightened of what would happen. I did not want power over people. Iknew it was not good for her that she should suffer so much excitement. No, I did not know what to do. And so we all moved to Aix. "

And there she met Harry Wethermill on the second day after her arrival, and proceeded straightway for the first time to fall in love. To Celiait seemed that at last that had happened for which she had so longed. She began really to live as she understood life at this time. The day, until she met Harry Wethermill, was one flash of joyous expectation;the hours when they were together a time of contentment which thrilledwith some chance meeting of the hands into an exquisite happiness. Mme. Dauvray understood quickly what was the matter, and laughed at heraffectionately. 

"Celie, my dear, " she said, "your friend, M. Wethermill--'Arry, is itnot? See, I pronounce your tongue--will not be as comfortable as thenice, fat, bourgeois gentleman I meant to find for you. But, since youare young, naturally you want storms. And there will be storms, Celie, "she concluded, with a laugh. 

Celia blushed. 

"I suppose there will, " she said regretfully. There were, indeed, moments when she was frightened of Harry Wethermill, but frightenedwith a delicious thrill of knowledge that he was only stern because hecared so much. 

But in a day or two there began to intrude upon her happiness astinging dissatisfaction with her past life. At times she fell intomelancholy, comparing her career with that of the man who loved her. Attimes she came near to an extreme irritation with Helene Vauquier. Herlover was in her thoughts. As she put it herself:

"I wanted always to look my best, and always to be very good. "

Good in the essentials of life, that is to be understood. She had livedin a lax world. She was not particularly troubled by the character ofher associates; she was untouched by them; she liked her fling at thebaccarat-tables. These were details, and did not distress her. Love hadnot turned her into a Puritan. But certain recollections plagued hersoul. The visit to the restaurant at Montmartre, for instance, and theseances. Of these, indeed, she thought to have made an end. There werethe baccarat-rooms, the beauty of the town and the neighbourhood todistract Mme. Dauvray. Celia kept her thoughts away from seances. Therewas no seance as yet held in the Villa Rose. And there would have beennone but for Helene Vauquier. 

One evening, however, as Harry Wethermill walked down from the Cercleto the Villa des Fleurs, a woman's voice spoke to him from behind. 

"Monsieur!"

He turned and saw Mme. Dauvray's maid. He stopped under a street lamp, and said:

"Well, what can I do for you?"

The woman hesitated. 

"I hope monsieur will pardon me, " she said humbly. "I am committing agreat impertinence. But I think monsieur is not very kind to Mlle. Celie. "

Wethermill stared at her. 

"What on earth do you mean?" he asked angrily. 

Helene Vauquier looked him quietly in the face. 

"It is plain, monsieur, that Mlle. Celie loves monsieur. Monsieur hasled her on to love him. But it is also plain to a woman with quick eyesthat monsieur himself cares no more for mademoiselle than for thebutton on his coat. It is not very kind to spoil the happiness of ayoung and pretty girl, monsieur. "

Nothing could have been more respectful than the manner in which thesewords were uttered. Wethermill was taken in by it. He protestedearnestly, fearing lest the maid should become an enemy. 

"Helene, it is not true that I am playing with Mlle. Celie. Why shouldI not care for her?"

Helene Vauquier shrugged her shoulders. The question needed no answer. 

"Why should I seek her so often if I did not care?"

And to this question Helene Vauquier smiled--a quiet, slow, confidential smile. 

"What does monsieur want of Mme. Dauvray?" she asked. And the questionwas her answer. 

Wethermill stood silent. Then he said abruptly:

"Nothing, of course; nothing. " And he walked away. 

But the smile remained on Helene Vauquier's face. What did they allwant of Mme. Dauvray? She knew very well. It was what she herselfwanted--with other things. It was money--always money. Wethermill wasnot the first to seek the good graces of Mme. Dauvray through herpretty companion. Helene Vauquier went home. She was not discontentedwith her conversation. Wethermill had paused long enough before hedenied the suggestion of her words. She approached him a few days latera second time and more openly. She was shopping in, the Rue du Casinowhen he passed her. He stopped of his own accord and spoke to her. Helene Vauquier kept a grave and respectful face. But there was a pulseof joy at her heart. He was coming to her hand. 

"Monsieur, " she said, "you do not go the right way. " And again herstrange smile illuminated her face. "Mlle. Celie sets a guard aboutMme. Dauvray. She will not give to people the opportunity to findmadame generous. "

"Oh, " said Wethermill slowly. "Is that so?" And he turned and walked byHelene Vauquier's side. 

"Never speak of Mme. Dauvray's wealth, monsieur, if you would keep thefavour of Mlle. Celie. She is young, but she knows her world. "

"I have not spoken of money to her, " replied Wethermill; and then heburst out laughing. "But why should you think that I--I, of allmen--want money?" he asked. 

And Helene answered him again enigmatically. 

"If I am wrong, monsieur, I am sorry, but you can help me too, " shesaid, in her submissive voice. And she passed on, leaving Wethermillrooted to the ground. 

It was a bargain she proposed--the impertinence of it! It was a bargainshe proposed--the value of it! In that shape ran Harry Wethermill'sthoughts. He was in desperate straits, though to the world's eye he wasa man of wealth. A gambler, with no inexpensive tastes, he had beenalways in need of money. The rights in his patent he had mortgaged longago. He was not an idler; he was no sham foisted as a great man on anignorant public. He had really some touch of genius, and he cultivatedit assiduously. But the harder he worked, the greater was his need ofgaiety and extravagance. Gifted with good looks and a charm of manner, he was popular alike in the great world and the world of Bohemia. Hekept and wanted to keep a foot in each. That he was in desperatestraits now, probably Helene Vauquier alone in Aix had recognised. Shehad drawn her inference from one simple fact. Wethermill asked her at alater time when they were better acquainted how she had guessed hisneed. 

"Monsieur, " she replied, "you were in Aix without a valet, and itseemed to me that you were of that class of men who would never movewithout a valet so long as there was money to pay his wages. That wasmy first thought. Then when I saw you pursue your friendship with Mlle. Celie--you, who so clearly to my eyes did not love her--I felt sure. "

On the next occasion that the two met, it was again Harry Wethermillwho sought Helene Vauquier. He talked for a minute or two uponindifferent subjects, and then he said quickly:

"I suppose Mme. Dauvray is very rich?"

"She has a great fortune in jewels, " said Helene Vauquier. 

Wethermill started. He was agitated that evening, the woman saw. Hishands shook, his face twitched. Clearly he was hard put to it. For heseldom betrayed himself. She thought it time to strike. 

"Jewels which she keeps in the safe in her bedroom, " she added. 

"Then why don't you---?" he began, and stopped. 

"I said that I too needed help, " replied Helene, without a ruffle ofher composure. 

It was nine o'clock at night. Helene Vauquier had come down to theCasino with a wrap for Mme. Dauvray. The two people were walking downthe little street of which the Casino blocks the end. And it happenedthat an attendant at the Casino, named Alphonse Ruel, passed them, recognised them both, and--smiled to himself with some amusement. Whatwas Wethermill doing in company with Mme. Dauvray's maid? Ruel had nodoubt. Ruel had seen Wethermill often enough these recent days withMme. Dauvray's pretty companion. Ruel had all a Frenchman's sympathywith lovers. He wished them well, those two young and attractivepeople, and hoped that the maid would help their plans. 

But as he passed he caught a sentence spoken suddenly by Wethermill. 

"Well, it is true; I must have money. " And the agitated voice and wordsremained fixed in his memory. He heard, too, a warning "Hush!" from themaid. Then they passed out of his hearing. But he turned and saw thatWethermill was talking volubly. What Harry Wethermill was saying he wassaying in a foolish burst of confidence. 

"You have guessed it, Helene--you alone. " He had mortgaged his patenttwice over--once in France, once in England--and the second time hadbeen a month ago. He had received a large sum down, which went to payhis pressing creditors. He had hoped to pay the sum back from a newinvention. 

"But Helene, I tell you, " he said, "I have a conscience. " And when shesmiled he explained. "Oh, not what the priests would call a conscience;that I know. But none the less I have a conscience--a conscience aboutthe things which really matter, at all events to me. There is a flaw inthat new invention. It can be improved; I know that. But as yet I donot see how, and--I cannot help it--I must get it right; I cannot letit go imperfect when I know that it's imperfect, when I know that itcan be improved, when I am sure that I shall sooner or later hit uponthe needed improvement. That is what I mean when I say I have aconscience. "

Helena Vauquier smiled indulgently. Men were queer fish. Things whichwere really of no account troubled and perplexed them and gave themsleepless nights. But it was not for her to object, since it was one ofthese queer anomalies which was giving her her chance. 

"And the people are finding out that you have sold your rights twiceover, " she said sympathetically. "That is a pity, monsieur. "

"They know, " he answered; "those in England know. "

"And they are very angry?"

"They threaten me, " said Wethermill. "They give me a month to restorethe money. Otherwise there will be disgrace, imprisonment, penalservitude. "

Helene Vauquier walked calmly on. No sign of the intense joy which shefelt was visible in her face, and only a trace of it in her voice. 

"Monsieur will, perhaps, meet me tomorrow in Geneva, " she said. And shenamed a small cafe in a back street. "I can get a holiday for theafternoon. " And as they were near to the villa and the lights, shewalked on ahead. 

Wethermill loitered behind. He had tried his luck at the tables and hadfailed. And--and--he must have the money. 

He travelled, accordingly, the next day to Geneva, and was therepresented to Adele Tace and Hippolyte. 

"They are trusted friends of mine, " said Helene Vauquier to Wethermill, who was not inspired to confidence by the sight of the young man withthe big ears and the plastered hair. As a matter of fact, she had nevermet them before they came this year to Aix. 

The Tace family, which consisted of Adele and her husband and Jeanne, her mother, were practised criminals. They had taken the house inGeneva deliberately in order to carry out some robberies from the greatvillas on the lake-side. But they had not been fortunate; and adescription of Mme. Dauvray's jewellery in the woman's column of aGeneva newspaper had drawn Adele Tace over to Aix. She had set aboutthe task of seducing Mme. Dauvray's maid, and found a master, not aninstrument. 

In the small cafe on that afternoon of July Helene Vauquier instructedher accomplices, quietly and methodically, as though what she proposedwas the most ordinary stroke of business. Once or twice subsequentlyWethermill, who was the only safe go-between, went to the house inGeneva, altering his hair and wearing a moustache, to complete thearrangements. He maintained firmly at his trial that at none of thesemeetings was there any talk of murder. 

"To be sure, " said the judge, with a savage sarcasm. "In decentconversation there is always a reticence. Something is left to beunderstood. "

And it is difficult to understand how murder could not have been anessential part of their plan, since---But let us see what happened. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST MOVE

On the Friday before the crime was committed Mme. Dauvray and Celiadined at the Villa des Fleurs. While they were drinking their coffeeHarry Wethermill joined them. He stayed with them until Mme. Dauvraywas ready to move, and then all three walked into the baccarat roomstogether. But there, in the throng of people, they were separated. 

Harry Wethermill was looking carefully after Celia, as a good lovershould. He had, it seemed, no eyes for any one else; and it was notuntil a minute or two had passed that the girl herself noticed thatMme. Dauvray was not with them. 

"We will find her easily, " said Harry. 

"Of course, " replied Celia. 

"There is, after all, no hurry, " said Wethermill, with a laugh; "andperhaps she was not unwilling to leave us together. "

Celia dimpled to a smile. 

"Mme. Dauvray is kind to me, " she said, with a very pretty timidity. 

"And yet more kind to me, " said Wethermill in a low voice which broughtthe blood into Celia's cheeks. 

But even while he spoke he soon caught sight of Mme. Dauvray standingby one of the tables; and near to her was Adele Tace. Adele had not yetmade Mme. Dauvray's acquaintance; that was evident. She was apparentlyunaware of her; but she was gradually edging towards her. Wethermillsmiled, and Celia caught the smile. 

"What is it?" she asked, and her head began to turn in the direction ofMme. Dauvray. 

"Why, I like your frock--that's all, " said Wethermill at once; andCelia's eyes went down to it. 

"Do you?" she said, with a pleased smile. It was a dress of dark bluewhich suited her well. "I am glad. I think it is pretty. " And theypassed on. 

Wethermill stayed by the girl's side throughout the evening. Once againhe saw Mme. Dauvray and Adele Tace. But now they were together; nowthey were talking. The first step had been taken. Adele Tace hadscraped acquaintance with Mme. Dauvray. Celia saw them almost at thesame moment. 

"Oh, there is Mme. Dauvray, " she cried, taking a step towards her. 

Wethermill detained the girl. 

"She seems quite happy, " he said; and, indeed, Mme. Dauvray was talkingvolubly and with the utmost interest, the jewels sparkling about herneck. She raised her head, saw Celia, nodded to her affectionately, andthen pointed her out to her companion. Adele Tace looked the girl overwith interest and smiled contentedly. There was nothing to be fearedfrom her. Her youth, her very daintiness, seemed to offer her as theeasiest of victims. 

"You see Mme. Dauvray does not want you, " said Harry Wethermill. "Letus go and play chemin-de-fer"; and they did, moving off into one of thefurther rooms. 

It was not until another hour had passed that Celia rose and went insearch of Mme. Dauvray. She found her still talking earnestly to AdeleTace. Mme. Dauvray got up at once. 

"Are you ready to go, dear?" she asked, and she turned to Adele Tace. "This is Celie, Mme. Rossignol, " she said, and she spoke with a markedsignificance and a note of actual exultation in her voice. 

Celia, however, was not unused to this tone. Mme. Dauvray was proud ofher companion, and had a habit of showing her off, to the girl'sdiscomfort. The three women spoke a few words, and then Mme. Dauvrayand Celia left the rooms and walked to the entrance-doors. But as theywalked Celia became alarmed. 

She was by nature extraordinarily sensitive to impressions. It was tothat quick receptivity that the success of "The Great Fortinbras" hadbeen chiefly due. She had a gift of rapid comprehension. It was notthat she argued, or deducted, or inferred. But she felt. To take ametaphor from the work of the man she loved, she was a naturalreceiver. So now, although no word was spoken, she was aware that Mme. Dauvray was greatly excited--greatly disturbed; and she dreaded thereason of that excitement and disturbance. 

While they were driving home in the motor-car she said apprehensively:

"You met a friend then, to-night, madame?"

"No, " said Mme. Dauvray; "I made a friend. I had not met Mme. Rossignolbefore. A bracelet of hers came undone, and I helped her to fasten it. We talked afterwards. She lives in Geneva. "

Mme. Dauvray was silent for a moment or two. Then she turnedimpulsively and spoke in a voice of appeal. 

"Celie, we talked of things"; and the girl moved impatiently. Sheunderstood very well what were the things of which Mme. Dauvray and hernew friend had talked. "And she laughed. ... I could not bear it. "

Celia was silent, and Mme. Dauvray went on in a voice of awe:

"I told her of the wonderful things which happened when I sat withHelene in the dark--how the room filled with strange sounds, howghostly fingers touched my forehead and my eyes. She laughed--AdeleRossignol laughed, Celie. I told her of the spirits with whom we heldconverse. She would not believe. Do you remember the evening, Celie, when Mme. De Castiglione came back an old, old woman, and told us how, when she had grown old and had lost her beauty and was very lonely, shewould no longer live in the great house which was so full of torturingmemories, but took a small appartement near by, where no one knew her;and how she used to walk out late at night, and watch, with her eyesfull of tears, the dark windows which had been once so bright withlight? Adele Rossignol would not believe. I told her that I had foundthe story afterwards in a volume of memoirs. Adele Rossignol laughedand said no doubt you had read that volume yourself before the seance. "

Celia stirred guiltily. 

"She had no faith in you, Celie. It made me angry, dear. She said thatyou invented your own tests. She sneered at them. A string across acupboard! A child, she said, could manage that; much more, then, aclever young lady. Oh, she admitted that you were clever! Indeed, sheurged that you were far too clever to submit to the tests of some oneyou did not know. I replied that you would. I was right, Celie, was Inot?"

And again the appeal sounded rather piteously in Mme. Dauvray's voice. 

"Tests!" said Celia, with a contemptuous laugh. And, in truth, she wasnot afraid of them. Mme. Dauvray's voice at once took courage. 

"There!" she cried triumphantly. "I was sure. I told her so. Celie, Iarranged with her that next Tuesday--"

And Celia interrupted quickly. 

"No! Oh, no!"

Again there was silence; and then Mme. Dauvray said gently, but veryseriously:

"Celie, you are not kind. "

Celia was moved by the reproach. 

"Oh, madame!" she cried eagerly. "Please don't think that. How could Ibe anything else to you who are so kind to me?"

"Then prove it, Celie. On Tuesday I have asked Mme. Rossignol to come;and--" The old woman's voice became tremulous with excitement. "Andperhaps--who knows?--perhaps SHE will appear to us. "

Celia had no doubt who "she" was. She was Mme. De Montespan. 

"Oh, no, madame!" she stammered. "Here, at Aix, we are not in thespirit for such things. "

And then, in a voice of dread, Mme. Dauvray asked: "Is it true, then, what Adele said?"

And Celia started violently. Mme. Dauvray doubted. 

"I believe it would break my heart, my dear, if I were to think that;if I were to know that you had tricked me, " she said, with a tremblingvoice. Celia covered her face with her hands. It would be true. She hadno doubt of it. Mme. Dauvray would never forgive herself--would neverforgive Celia. Her infatuation had grown so to engross her that therest of her life would surely be embittered. It was not merely apassion--it was a creed as well. Celia shrank from the renewal of theseseances. Every fibre in her was in revolt. They were so unworthy--sounworthy of Harry Wethermill, and of herself as she now herself wishedto be. But she had to pay now; the moment for payment had come. 

"Celie, " said Mme. Dauvray, "it isn't true! Surely it isn't true?"

Celia drew her hands away from her face. 

"Let Mme. Rossignol come on Tuesday!" she cried, and the old womancaught the girl's hand and pressed it with affection. 

"Oh, thank you! thank you!" she cried. "Adele Rossignol laughsto-night; we shall convince her on Tuesday, Celie! Celie, I am soglad!" And her voice sank into a solemn whisper, patheticallyludicrous. "It is not right that she should laugh! To bring people backthrough the gates of the spirit-world--that is wonderful. "

To Celia the sound of the jargon learnt from her own lips, used byherself so thoughtlessly in past times, was odious. "For the lasttime, " she pleaded to herself. All her life was going to change; thoughno word had yet been spoken by Harry Wethermill, she was sure of it. Just for this one last time, then, so that she might leave Mme. Dauvraythe colours of her belief, she would hold a seance at the Villa Rose. 

Mme. Dauvray told the news to Helene Vauquier when they reached thevilla. 

"You will be present, Helene, " she cried excitedly. "It will beTuesday. There will be the three of us. "

"Certainly, if madame wishes, " said Helene submissively. She lookedround the room. "Mlle. Celie can be placed on a chair in that recessand the curtains drawn, whilst we--madame and madame's friend andI--can sit round this table under the side windows. "

"Yes, " said Celia, "that will do very well. "

It was Madame Dauvray's habit when she was particularly pleased withCelia to dismiss her maid quickly, and to send her to brush the girl'shair at night; and in a little while on this night Helene went toCelia's room. While she brushed Celia's hair she told her thatServettaz's parents lived at Chambery, and that he would like to seethem. 

"But the poor man is afraid to ask for a day, " she said. "He has beenso short a time with madame. "

"Of course madame will give him a holiday if he asks, " replied Celiawith a smile. "I will speak to her myself to-morrow. "

"It would be kind of mademoiselle, " said Helene Vauquier. "Butperhaps--" She stopped. 

"Well, " said Celia. 

"Perhaps mademoiselle would do better still to speak to Servattazhimself and encourage him to ask with his own lips. Madame has hermoods, is it not so? She does not always like it to be forgotten thatshe is the mistress. "

On the next day accordingly Celia did speak to Servettaz, and Servettazasked for his holiday. 

"But of course, " Mme. Dauvray at once replied. "We must decide upon aday. "

It was then that Helene Vauquier ventured humbly upon a suggestion. 

"Since madame has a friend coming here on Tuesday, perhaps that wouldbe the best day for him to go. Madame would not be likely to take along drive that afternoon. "

"No, indeed, " replied Mme. Dauvray. "We shall all three dine togetherearly in Aix and return here. "

"Then I will tell him he may go to-morrow, " said Celia. 

For this conversation took place on the Monday, and in the evening Mme. Dauvray and Celia went as usual to the Villa des Fleurs and dined there. 

"I was in a bad mind, " said Celia, when asked by the Juge d'Instructionto explain that attack of nerves in the garden which Ricardo hadwitnessed. "I hated more and more the thought of the seance which wasto take place on the morrow. I felt that I was disloyal to Harry. Mynerves were all tingling. I was not nice that night at all, " she addedquaintly. "But at dinner I determined that if I met Harry after dinner, as I was sure to do, I would tell him the whole truth about myself. However, when I did meet him I was frightened. I knew how stern hecould suddenly look. I dreaded what he would think. I was too afraidthat I should lose him. No, I could not speak; I had not the courage. That made me still more angry with myself, and so I--I quarrelled atonce with Harry. He was surprised; but it was natural, wasn't it? Whatelse should one do under such circumstances, except quarrel with theman one loved? Yes, I really quarrelled with him, and said things whichI thought and hoped would hurt. Then I ran away from him lest I shouldbreak down and cry. I went to the tables and lost at once all the moneyI had except one note of five louis. But that did not console me. And Iran out into the garden, very unhappy. There I behaved like a child, and Mr. Ricardo saw me. But it was not the little money I had lostwhich troubled me; no, it was the thought of what a coward I was. Afterwards Harry and I made it up, and I thought, like the little foolI was, that he wanted to ask me to marry him. But I would not let himthat night. Oh! I wanted him to ask me--I was longing for him to askme--but not that night. Somehow I felt that the seance and the tricksmust be all over and done with before I could listen or answer. "

The quiet and simple confession touched the magistrate who listened toit with profound pity. He shaded his eyes with his hand. The girl'ssense of her unworthiness, the love she had given so unstintingly toHarry Wethermill, the deep pride she had felt in the delusion that heloved her too, had in it an irony too bitter. But he was aroused toanger against the man. 

"Go on, mademoiselle, " he said. But in spite of himself his voicetrembled. 

"So I arranged with him that we should meet on Wednesday, as Mr. Ricardo heard. "

"You told him that you would 'want him' on Wednesday, " said the Judgequoting Mr. Ricardo's words. 

"Yes, " replied Celia. "I meant that the last word of all thesedeceptions would have been spoken. I should be free to hear what he hadto say to me. You see, monsieur, I was so sure that I knew what it washe had to say to me--" and her voice broke upon the words. Sherecovered herself with an effort. "Then I went home with Mme. Dauvray. "

On the morning of Tuesday, however, there came a letter from AdeleTace, of which no trace was afterwards discovered. The letter invitedMme. Dauvray and Celia to come out to Annecy and dine with her at anhotel there. They could then return together to Aix. The proposalfitted well with Mme. Dauvray's inclinations. She was in a feverishmood of excitement. 

"Yes, it will be better that we dine quietly together in a place wherethere is no noise and no crowd, and where no one knows us, " she said;and she looked up the time-table. "There is a train back which reachesAix at nine o'clock, " she said, "so we need not spoil Servettaz'holiday. "

"His parents will be expecting him, " Helene Vauquier added. 

Accordingly Servettaz left for Chambery by the 1. 50 train from Aix; andlater on in the afternoon Mme. Dauvray and Celia went by train toAnnecy. In the one woman's mind was the queer longing that "she" shouldappear and speak to-night; in the girl's there was a wish passionate asa cry. "This shall be the last time, " she said to herself again andagain--"the very last. "

Meanwhile, Helene Vauquier, it must be held, burnt carefully AdeleTaces letter. She was left in the Villa Rose with the charwoman to keepher company. The charwoman bore testimony that Helene Vauquiercertainly did burn a letter in the kitchen-stove, and that after shehad burned it she sat for a long time rocking herself in a chair, witha smile of great pleasure upon her face, and now and then moisteningher lips with her tongue. But Helene Vauquier kept her mouth sealed. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE AFTERNOON OF TUESDAY

Mme. Dauvray and Celia found Adele Rossignol, to give Adele Tace thename which she assumed, waiting for them impatiently in the garden ofan hotel at Annecy, on the Promenade du Paquier. She was a tall, lithewoman, and she was dressed, by the purse and wish of Helene Vauquier, in a robe and a long coat of sapphire velvet, which toned down thecoarseness of her good looks and lent something of elegance to herfigure. 

"So it is mademoiselle, " Adele began, with a smile of raillery, "who isso remarkably clever. "

"Clever?" answered Celia, looking straight at Adele, as though throughher she saw mysteries beyond. She took up her part at once. Since forthe last time it had got to be played, there must be no fault in theplaying. For her own sake, for the sake of Mme. Dauvray's happiness, she must carry it off to-night with success. The suspicions of AdeleRossignol must obtain no verification. She spoke in a quiet and mostserious voice. "Under spirit-control no one is clever. One does thebidding of the spirit which controls. "

"Perfectly, " said Adele in a malicious tone. "I only hope you will seeto it, mademoiselle, that some amusing spirits control you this eveningand appear before us. "

"I am only the living gate by which the spirit forms pass from therealm of mind into the world of matter, " Celia replied. 

"Quite so, " said Adele comfortably. "Now let us be sensible and dine. We can amuse ourselves with mademoiselle's rigmaroles afterwards. "

Mme. Dauvray was indignant. Celia, for her part, felt humiliated andsmall. They sat down to their dinner in the garden, but the rain beganto fall and drove them indoors. There were a few people dining at thesame hour, but none near enough to overhear them. Alike in the gardenand the dining-room, Adele Tace kept up the same note of ridicule anddisbelief. She had been carefully tutored for her work. She was able tocite the stock cases of exposure--"les freres Davenport, " as she calledthem, Eusapia Palladino and Dr. Slade. She knew the precautions whichhad been taken to prevent trickery and where those precautions hadfailed. Her whole conversation was carefully planned to one end, and toone end alone. She wished to produce in the minds of her companions socomplete an impression of her scepticism that it would seem the mostnatural thing in the world to both of them that she should insist uponsubjecting Celia to the severest tests. The rain ceased, and they tooktheir coffee on the terrace of the hotel. Mme. Dauvray had been reallypained by the conversation of Adele Tace. She had all the missionaryzeal of a fanatic. 

"I do hope, Adele, that we shall make you believe. But we shall. Oh, Iam confident we shall. " And her voice was feverish. 

Adele dropped for the moment her tone of raillery. 

"I am not unwilling to believe, " she said, "but I cannot. I aminterested--yes. You see how much I have studied the subject. But Icannot believe. I have heard stories of how these manifestations areproduced--stories which make me laugh. I cannot help it. The tricks areso easy. A young girl wearing a black frock which does not rustle--itis always a black frock, is it not, because a black frock cannot beseen in the dark?--carrying a scarf or veil, with which she can makeany sort of headdress if only she is a little clever, and shod in apair of felt-soled slippers, is shut up in a cabinet or placed behind ascreen, and the lights are turned down or out--" Adele broke off with acomic shrug of the shoulders. "Bah! It ought not to deceive a child. "

Celia sat with a face which WOULD grow red. She did not look, but nonethe less she was aware that Mme. Dauvray was gazing at her with aperplexed frown and some return of her suspicion showing in her eyes. Adele Tace was not content to leave the subject there. 

"Perhaps, " she said, with a smile, "Mlle. Celie dresses in that way fora seance?"

"Madame shall see tonight, " Celia stammered, and Camille Dauvray rathersternly repeated her words. 

"Yes, Adele shall see tonight. I myself will decide what you shallwear, Celie. "

Adele Tace casually suggested the kind of dress which she would prefer. 

"Something light in colour with a train, something which will hiss andwhisper if mademoiselle moves about the room--yes, and I think one ofmademoiselle's big hats, " she said. "We will have mademoiselle asmodern as possible, so that, when the great ladies of the past appearin the coiffure of their day, we may be sure it is not Mlle. Celie whorepresents them. "

"I will speak to Helene, " said Mme. Dauvray, and Adele Tace was content. 

There was a particular new dress of which she knew, and it was verydesirable that Mlle. Celie should wear it tonight. For one thing, ifCelia wore it, it would help the theory that she had put it on becauseshe expected that night a lover; for another, with that dress therewent a pair of satin slippers which had just come home from a shoemakerat Aix, and which would leave upon soft mould precisely the sameimprints as the grey suede shoes which the girl was wearing now. 

Celia was not greatly disconcerted by Mme. Rossignol's precautions. Shewould have to be a little more careful, and Mme. De Montespan would bea little longer in responding to the call of Mme. Dauvray than most ofthe other dead ladies of the past had been. But that was all. She was, however, really troubled in another way. All through dinner, at everyword of the conversation, she had felt her reluctance towards thisseance swelling into a positive disgust. More than once she had feltdriven by some uncontrollable power to rise up at the table and cry outto Adele:

"You are right! It IS trickery. There is no truth in it. "

But she had mastered herself. For opposite to her sat her patroness, her good friend, the woman who had saved her. The flush upon Mme. Dauvray's cheeks and the agitation of her manner warned Celia how muchhung upon the success of this last seance. How much for both of them!

And in the fullness of that knowledge a great fear assailed her. Shebegan to be afraid, so strong was her reluctance, that she would notbring her heart into the task. "Suppose I failed tonight because Icould not force myself to wish not to fail!" she thought, and shesteeled herself against the thought. Tonight she must not fail. Forapart altogether from Mme. Dauvray's happiness, her own, it seemed, wasat stake too. 

"It must be from my lips that Harry learns what I have been, " she saidto herself, and with the resolve she strengthened herself. 

"I will wear what you please, " she said, with a smile. "I only wishMme. Rossignol to be satisfied. "

"And I shall be, " said Adele, "if--" She leaned forward in anxiety. Shehad come to the real necessity of Helene Vauquier's plan. "If weabandon as quite laughable the cupboard door and the string across it;if, in a word, mademoiselle consents that we tie her hand and foot andfasten her securely in a chair. Such restraints are usual in theexperiments of which I have read. Was there not a medium called Mlle. Cook who was secured in this way, and then remarkable things, which Icould not believe, were supposed to have happened?"

"Certainly I permit it, " said Celia, with indifference; and Mme. Dauvray cried enthusiastically:

"Ah, you shall believe tonight in those wonderful things!"

Adele Tace leaned back. She drew a breath. It was a breath of relief. 

"Then we will buy the cord in Aix, " she said. 

"We have some, no doubt, in the house, " said Mme. Dauvray. 

Adele shook her head and smiled. 

"My dear madame, you are dealing with a sceptic. I should not becontent. "

Celia shrugged her shoulders. 

"Let us satisfy Mme. Rossignol, " she said. 

Celia, indeed, was not alarmed by this last precaution. For her it wasa test less difficult than the light-coloured rustling robe. She hadappeared upon so many platforms, had experienced too often the bunglingefforts of spectators called up from the audience, to be in any fear. There were very few knots from which her small hands and supple fingershad not learnt long since to extricate themselves. She was aware howmuch in all these matters the personal equation counted. Men who might, perhaps, have been able to tie knots from which she could not get freewere always too uncomfortable and self-conscious, or too afraid ofhurting her white arms and wrists, to do it. Women, on the other hand, who had no compunctions of that kind, did not know how. 

It was now nearly eight o'clock; the rain still held off. 

"We must go, " said Mme. Dauvray, who for the last half-hour had beencontinually looking at her watch. 

They drove to the station and took the train. Once more the rain camedown, but it had stopped again before the train steamed into Aix atnine o'clock. 

"We will take a cab, " said Mme. Dauvray: "it will save time. "

"It will do us good to walk, madame, " pleaded Adele. The train wasfull. Adele passed quickly out from the lights of the station in thethrong of passengers and waited in the dark square for the others tojoin her. "It is barely nine. A friend has promised to call at theVilla Rose for me after eleven and drive me back in a motor-car toGeneva, so we have plenty of time. "

They walked accordingly up the hill, Mme. Dauvray slowly, since she wasstout, and Celia keeping pace with her. Thus it seemed natural thatAdele Tace should walk ahead, though a passer-by would not have thoughtshe was of their company. At the corner of the Rue du Casino Adelewaited for them and said quickly:

"Mademoiselle, you can get some cord, I think, at the shop there, " andshe pointed to the shop of M. Corval. "Madame and I will go slowly on;you, who are the youngest, will easily catch us up. " Celia went intothe shop, bought the cord, and caught Mme. Dauvray up before shereached the villa. 

"Where is Mme. Rossignol?" she asked. 

"She went on, " said Camille Dauvray. "She walks faster than I do. "

They passed no one whom they knew, although they did pass one whorecognised them, as Perrichet had discovered. They came upon Adele, waiting for them at the corner of the road, where it turns down towardthe villa. 

"It is near here--the Villa Rose?" she asked. 

"A minute more and we are there. "

They turned in at the drive, closed the gate behind them, and walked upto the villa. 

The windows and the glass doors were closed, the latticed shuttersfastened. A light burned in the hall. 

"Helene is expecting us, " said Mme. Dauvray, for as they approached shesaw the front door open to admit them, and Helene Vauquier in thedoorway. The three women went straight into the little salon, which wasready with the lights up and a small fire burning. Celia noticed thefire with a trifle of dismay. She moved a fire-screen in front of it. 

"I can understand why you do that, mademoiselle, " said Adele Rossignol, with a satirical smile. But Mme. Dauvray came to the girl's help. 

"She is right, Adele. Light is the great barrier between us and thespirit-world, " she said solemnly. 

Meanwhile, in the hall Helene Vauquier locked and bolted the frontdoor. Then she stood motionless, with a smile upon her face and a heartbeating high. All through that afternoon she had been afraid that someaccident at the last moment would spoil her plan, that Adele Tace hadnot learned her lesson, that Celie would take fright, that she wouldnot return. Now all those fears were over. She had her victims safewithin the villa. The charwoman had been sent home. She had them toherself. She was still standing in the hall when Mme. Dauvray calledaloud impatiently:

"Helene! Helene!"

And when she entered the salon there was still, as Celia was able torecall, some trace of her smile lingering upon her face. 

Adele Rossignol had removed her hat and was taking off her gloves. Mme. Dauvray was speaking impatiently to Celia. 

"We will arrange the room, dear, while Helene helps you to dress. Itwill be quite easy. We shall use the recess. "

And Celia, as she ran up the stairs, heard Mme. Dauvray discussing withher maid what frock she should wear. She was hot, and she took ahurried bath. When she came from her bathroom she saw with dismay thatit was her new pale-green evening gown which had been laid out. It wasthe last which she would have chosen. But she dared not refuse it. Shemust still any suspicion. She must succeed. She gave herself intoHelene's hands. Celia remembered afterwards one or two points whichpassed barely heeded at the time. Once while Helene was dressing herhair she looked up at the maid in the mirror and noticed a strange andrather horrible grin upon her face, which disappeared the moment theireyes met. Then again, Helene was extraordinarily slow andextraordinarily fastidious that evening. Nothing satisfied her, neitherthe hang of the girl's skirt, the folds of her sash, nor thearrangement of her hair. 

"Come, Helene, be quick, " said Celia. "You know how madame hates to bekept waiting at these times. You might be dressing me to go to meet mylover, " she added, with a blush and a smile at her own prettyreflection in the glass; and a queer look came upon Helene Vauquier'sface. For it was at creating just this very impression that she aimed. 

"Very well, mademoiselle, " said Helene. And even as she spoke Mme. Dauvray's voice rang shrill and irritable up the stairs. 

"Celie! Celie!"

"Quick, Helene, " said Celia. For she herself was now anxious to havethe seance over and done with. 

But Helene did not hurry. The more irritable Mme. Dauvray became, themore impatient with Mlle. Celie, the less would Mlle. Celie dare torefuse the tests Adele wished to impose upon her. But that was not all. She took a subtle and ironic pleasure to-night in decking out hervictim's natural loveliness. Her face, her slender throat, her whiteshoulders, should look their prettiest, her grace of limb and figureshould be more alluring than ever before. The same words, indeed, wererunning through both women's minds. 

"For the last time, " said Celia to herself, thinking of these horribleseances, of which to-night should see the end. 

"For the last time, " said Helene Vauquier too. For the last time shelaced the girl's dress. There would be no more patient and carefulservice for Mlle. Celie after to-night. But she should have it and tospare to-night. She should be conscious that her beauty had never madeso strong an appeal; that she was never so fit for life as at themoment when the end had come. One thing Helene regretted. She wouldhave liked Celia--Celia, smiling at herself in the glass--to knowsuddenly what was in store for her! She saw in imagination the colourdie from the cheeks, the eyes stare wide with terror. 

"Celie! Celie!"

Again the impatient voice rang up the stairs, as Helene pinned thegirl's hat upon her fair head. Celie sprang up, took a quick step ortwo towards the door, and stopped in dismay. The swish of her longsatin train must betray her. She caught up the dress and tried again. Even so, the rustle of it was heard. 

"I shall have to be very careful. You will help me, Helene?"

"Of course, mademoiselle. I will sit underneath the switch of the lightin the salon. If madame, your visitor, makes the experiment toodifficult, I will find a way to help you, " said Helene Vauquier, and asshe spoke she handed Celia a long pair of white gloves. 

"I shall not want them, " said Celia. 

"Mme. Dauvray ordered me to give them to you, " replied Helene. 

Celia took them hurriedly, picked up a white scarf of tulle, and randown the stairs. Helene Vauquier listened at the door and heardmadame's voice in feverish anger. 

"We have been waiting for you, Celie. You have been an age. "

Helene Vauquier laughed softly to herself, took out Celia's white frockfrom the wardrobe, turned off the lights, and followed her down to thehall. She placed the cloak just outside the door of the salon. Then shecarefully turned out all the lights in the hall and in the kitchen andwent into the salon. The rest of the house was in darkness. This roomwas brightly lit; and it had been made ready. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SEANCE

Helene Vauquier locked the door of the salon upon the inside and placedthe key upon the mantel-shelf, as she had always done whenever a seancehad been held. The curtains had been loosened at the sides of thearched recess in front of the glass doors, ready to be drawn across. Inside the recess, against one of the pillars which supported the arch, a high stool without a back, taken from the hall, had been placed, andthe back legs of the stool had been lashed with cord firmly to thepillar, so that it could not be moved. The round table had been put inposition, with three chairs about it. Mme. Dauvray waited impatiently. Celia stood apparently unconcerned, apparently lost to all that wasgoing on. Her eyes saw no one. Adele looked up at Celia, and laughedmaliciously. 

"Mademoiselle, I see, is in the very mood to produce the most wonderfulphenomena. But it will be better, I think, madame, " she said, turningto Mme. Dauvray, "that Mlle. Celie should put on those gloves which Isee she has thrown on to a chair. It will be a little more difficultfor mademoiselle to loosen these cords, should she wish to do so. "

The argument silenced Celia. If she refused this condition now shewould excite Mme. Dauvray to a terrible suspicion. She drew on hergloves ruefully and slowly, smoothed them over her elbows, and buttonedthem. To free her hands with her fingers and wrists already hampered ingloves would not be so easy a task. But there was no escape. AdeleRossignol was watching her with a satiric smile. Mme. Dauvray wasurging her to be quick. Obeying a second order the girl raised herskirt and extended a slim foot in a pale-green silk stocking and asatin slipper to match. Adele was content. Celia was wearing the shoesshe was meant to wear. They were made upon the very same last as thosewhich Celia had just kicked off upstairs. An almost imperceptible nodfrom Helene Vauquier, moreover, assured her. 

She took up a length of the thin cord. 

"Now, how are we to begin?" she said awkwardly. "I think I will askyou, mademoiselle, to put your hands behind you. "

Celia turned her back and crossed her wrists. She stood in her satinfrock, with her white arms and shoulders bare, her slender throatsupporting her small head with its heavy curls, her big hat--a pictureof young grace and beauty. She would have had an easy task that nighthad there been men instead of women to put her to the test. But thewomen were intent upon their own ends: Mme. Dauvray eager for herseance, Adele Tace and Helene Vauquier for the climax of their plot. 

Celia clenched her hands to make the muscles of her wrists rigid toresist the pressure of the cord. Adele quietly unclasped them andplaced them palm to palm. And at once Celia became uneasy. It was notmerely the action, significant though it was of Adele's alertness tothwart her, which troubled Celia. But she was extraordinarily receptiveof impressions, extraordinarily quick to feel, from a touch, some dimsensation of the thought of the one who touched her. So now the touchof Adele's swift, strong, nervous hands caused her a queer, vague shockof discomfort. It was no more than that at the moment, but it was quitedefinite as that. 

"Keep your hands so, please, mademoiselle, " said Adele; "your fingersloose. "

And the next moment Celia winced and had to bite her lip to prevent acry. The thin cord was wound twice about her wrists, drawn cruellytight and then cunningly knotted. For one second Celia was thankful forher gloves; the next, more than ever she regretted that she wore them. It would have been difficult enough for her to free her hands now, evenwithout them. And upon that a worse thing befell her. 

"I beg mademoiselle's pardon if I hurt her, " said Adele. 

And she tied the girl's thumbs and little fingers. To slacken the knotsshe must have the use of her fingers, even though her gloves made themfumble. Now she had lost the use of them altogether. She began to feelthat she was in master-hands. She was sure of it the next instant. ForAdele stood up, and, passing a cord round the upper part of her arms, drew her elbows back. To bring any strength to help her in wrigglingher hands free she must be able to raise her elbows. With them trussedin the small of her back she was robbed entirely of her strength. Andall the time her strange uneasiness grew. She made a movement ofrevolt, and at once the cord was loosened. 

"Mlle. Celie objects to my tests, " said Adele, with a laugh, to Mme. Dauvray. "And I do not wonder. "

Celia saw upon the old woman's foolish and excited face a look ofveritable consternation. 

"Are you afraid, Celie?" she asked. 

There was anger, there was menace in the voice, but above all thesethere was fear--fear that her illusions were to tumble about her. Celiaheard that note and was quelled by it. This folly of belief, theseseances, were the one touch of colour in Mme. Dauvray's life. And itwas just that instinctive need of colour which had made her so easy todelude. How strong the need is, how seductive the proposal to supplyit, Celia knew well. She knew it from the experience of her life whenthe Great Fortinbras was at the climax of his fortunes. She hadtravelled much amongst monotonous, drab towns without character oramusements. She had kept her eyes open. She had seen that it was fromthe denizens of the dull streets in these towns that the quackreligions won their recruits. Mme. Dauvray's life had been afeatureless sort of affair until these experiments had come to colourit. Madame Dauvray must at any rate preserve the memory of that colour. 

"No, " she said boldly; "I am not afraid, " and after that she moved nomore. 

Her elbows were drawn firmly back and tightly bound. She was sure shecould not free them. She glanced in despair at Helene Vauquier, andthen some glimmer of hope sprang up. For Helene Vauquier gave her alook, a smile of reassurance. It was as if she said, "I will come toyour help. " Then, to make security still more sure, Adele turned thegirl about as unceremoniously as if she had been a doll, and, passing acord at the back of her arms, drew both ends round in front and knottedthem at her waist. 

"Now, Celie, " said Adele, with a vibration in her voice which Celia hadnot remarked before. 

Excitement was gaining upon her, as upon Mme. Dauvray. Her face wasflushed and shiny, her manner peremptory and quick. Celia's uneasinessgrew into fear. She could have used the words which Hanaud spoke thenext day in that very room--"There is something here which I do notunderstand. " The touch of Adele Tact's hands communicated something toher--something which filled her with a vague alarm. She could not haveformulated it if she would; she dared not if she could. She had but tostand and submit. 

"Now, " said Adele. 

She took the girl by the shoulders and set her in a clear space in themiddle of the room, her back to the recess, her face to the mirror, where all could see her. 

"Now, Celie"--she had dropped the "Mlle. " and the ironic suavity of hermanner--"try to free yourself. "

For a moment the girl's shoulders worked, her hands fluttered. But theyremained helplessly bound. 

"Ah, you will be content, Adele, to-night, " cried Mme. Dauvray eagerly. 

But even in the midst of her eagerness--so thoroughly had she beenprepared--there lingered a flavour of doubt, of suspicion. In Celia'smind there was still the one desperate resolve. 

"I must succeed to-night, " she said to herself--"I must!"

Adele Rossignol kneeled on the floor behind her. She gathered incarefully the girl's frock. Then she picked up the long train, wound ittightly round her limbs, pinioning and swathing them in the folds ofsatin, and secured the folds with a cord about the knees. 

She stood up again. 

"Can you walk, Celie?" she asked. "Try!"

With Helene Vauquier to support her if she fell, Celia took a tinyshuffling step forward, feeling supremely ridiculous. No one, however, of her audience was inclined to laugh. To Mme. Dauvray the wholebusiness was as serious as the most solemn ceremonial. Adele was intentupon making her knots secure. Helene Vauquier was the well-bred servantwho knew her place. It was not for her to laugh at her young mistress, in however ludicrous a situation she might be. 

"Now, " said Adele, "we will tie mademoiselle's ankles, and then weshall be ready for Mme. De Montespan. "

The raillery in her voice had a note of savagery in it now. Celia'svague terror grew. She had a feeling that a beast was waking in thewoman, and with it came a growing premonition of failure. Vainly shecried to herself, "I must not fail to-night. " But she feltinstinctively that there was a stronger personality than her own inthat room, taming her, condemning her to failure, influencing theothers. 

She was placed in a chair. Adele passed a cord round her ankles, andthe mere touch of it quickened Celia to a spasm of revolt. Her lastlittle remnant of liberty was being taken from her. She raised herself, or rather would have raised herself. But Helene with gentle hands heldher in the chair, and whispered under her breath:

"Have no fear! Madame is watching. "

Adele looked fiercely up into the girl's face. 

"Keep still, hein, la petite!" she cried. And the epithet--"littleone"--was a light to Celia. Till now, upon these occasions, with herblack ceremonial dress, her air of aloofness, her vague eyes, and thedignity of her carriage, she had already produced some part of theireffect before the seance had begun. She had been wont to sail into theroom, distant, mystical. She had her audience already expectant ofmysteries, prepared for marvels. Her work was already half done. Butnow of all that help she was deprived. She was no longer a personaloof, a prophetess, a seer of visions; she was simply asmartly-dressed girl of today, trussed up in a ridiculous and painfulposition--that was all. The dignity was gone. And the more she realisedthat, the more she was hindered from influencing her audience, the lessable she was to concentrate her mind upon them, to will them to favourher. Mme. Dauvray's suspicions, she was sure, were still awake. Shecould not quell them. There was a stronger personality than hers atwork in the room. The cord bit through her thin stockings into herankles. She dared not complain. It was savagely tied. She made noremonstrance. And then Helene Vauquier raised her up from the chair andlifted her easily off the ground. For a moment she held her so. IfCelia had felt ridiculous before, she knew that she was ten times moreso now. She could see herself as she hung in Helene Vauquier's arms, with her delicate frock ludicrously swathed and swaddled about herlegs. But, again, of those who watched her no one smiled. 

"We have had no such tests as these, " Mme. Dauvray explained, half infear, half in hope. 

Adele Rossignol looked the girl over and nodded her head withsatisfaction. She had no animosity towards Celia; she had really nofeeling of any kind for her or against her. Fortunately she was unawareat this time that Harry Wethermill had been paying his court to her orit would have gone worse with Mlle. Celie before the night was out. Mlle. Celie was just a pawn in a very dangerous game which she happenedto be playing, and she had succeeded in engineering her pawn into thedesired condition of helplessness. She was content. 

"Mademoiselle, " she said, with a smile, "you wish me to believe. Youhave now your opportunity. "

Opportunity! And she was helpless. She knew very well that she couldnever free herself from these cords without Helene's help. She wouldfail, miserably and shamefully fail. 

"It was madame who wished you to believe, " she stammered. 

And Adele Rossignol laughed suddenly--a short, loud, harsh laugh, whichjarred upon the quiet of the room. It turned Celia's vague alarm into adefinite terror. Some magnetic current brought her grave messages offear. The air about her seemed to tingle with strange menaces. Shelooked at Adele. Did they emanate from her? And her terror answered her"Yes. " She made her mistake in that. The strong personality in the roomwas not Adele Rossignol, but Helene Vauquier, who held her like a childin her arms. But she was definitely aware of danger, and too late awareof it. She struggled vainly. From her head to her feet she waspowerless. She cried out hysterically to her patron:

"Madame! Madame! There is something--a presence here--some one whomeans harm! I know it!"

And upon the old woman's face there came a look, not of alarm, but ofextraordinary relief. The genuine, heartfelt cry restored herconfidence in Celia. 

"Some one--who means harm!" she whispered, trembling with excitement. 

"Ah, mademoiselle is already under control, " said Helene, using thejargon which she had learnt from Celia's lips. 

Adele Rossignol grinned. 

"Yes, la petite is under control, " she repeated, with a sneer; and allthe elegance of her velvet gown was unable to hide her any longer fromCelia's knowledge. Her grin had betrayed her. She was of the dregs. ButHelene Vauquier whispered:

"Keep still, mademoiselle. I shall help you. "

Vauquier carried the girl into the recess and placed her upon thestool. With a long cord Adele bound her by the arms and the waist tothe pillar, and her ankles she fastened to the rung of the stool, sothat they could not touch the ground. 

"Thus we shall be sure that when we hear rapping it will be thespirits, and not the heels, which rap, " she said. "Yes, I am contentednow. " And she added, with a smile, "Celie may even have her scarf, "and, picking up a white scarf of tulle which Celia had brought downwith her, she placed it carelessly round her shoulders. 

"Wait!" Helene Vauquier whispered in Celia's ear. 

To the cord about Celia's waist Adele was fastening a longer line. 

"I shall keep my foot on the other end of this, " she said, "when thelights are out, and I shall know then if our little one frees herself. "

The three women went out of the recess. And the next moment the heavysilk curtains swung across the opening, leaving Celia in darkness. Quickly and noiselessly the poor girl began to twist and work herhands. But she only bruised her wrists. This was to be the last of theseances. But it must succeed! So much of Mme. Dauvray's happiness, somuch of her own, hung upon its success. Let her fail to-night, shewould be surely turned from the door. The story of her trickery and herexposure would run through Aix. And she had not told Harry! It wouldreach his ears from others. He would never forgive her. To face theold, difficult life of poverty and perhaps starvation again, and againalone, would be hard enough; but to face it with Harry Wethermill'scontempt added to its burdens--as the poor girl believed she surelywould have to do--no, that would be impossible! Not this time would sheturn away from the Seine, because it was so terrible and cold. If shehad had the courage to tell him yesterday, he would have forgiven, surely he would! The tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down hercheeks. What would become of her now? She was in pain besides. Thecords about her arms and ankles tortured her. And she feared--yes, desperately she feared the effect of the exposure upon Mme. Dauvray. She had been treated as a daughter; now she was in return to rob Mme. Dauvray of the belief which had become the passion of her life. 

"Let us take our seats at the table, " she heard Mme. Dauvray say. "Helene, you are by the switch of the electric light. Will you turn itoff?" And upon that Helene whispered, yet so that the whisper reachedto Celia and awakened hope:

"Wait! I will see what she is doing. "

The curtains opened, and Helene Vauquier slipped to the girl's side. 

Celia checked her tears. She smiled imploringly, gratefully. 

"What shall I do?" asked Helene, in a voice so low that the movement ofher mouth rather than the words made the question clear. 

Celia raised her head to answer. And then a thing incomprehensible toher happened. As she opened her lips Helene Vauquier swiftly forced ahandkerchief in between the girl's teeth, and lifting the scarf fromher shoulders wound it tightly twice across her mouth, binding herlips, and made it fast under the brim of her hat behind her head. Celiatried to scream; she could not utter a sound. She stared at Helene withincredulous, horror-stricken eyes. Helene nodded at her with a cruelgrin of satisfaction, and Celia realised, though she did notunderstand, something of the rancour and the hatred which seethedagainst her in the heart of the woman whom she had supplanted. HeleneVauquier meant to expose her to-night; Celia had not a doubt of it. That was her explanation of Helene Vauquier's treachery; and believingthat error, she believed yet another--that she had reached the terribleclimax of her troubles. She was only at the beginning of them. 

"Helene!" cried Mme. Dauvray sharply. "What are you doing?"

The maid instantly slid back into the room. 

"Mademoiselle has not moved, " she said. 

Celia heard the women settle in their chairs about the table. 

"Is madame ready?" asked Helene; and then there was the sound of thesnap of a switch. In the salon darkness had come. 

If only she had not been wearing her gloves, Celia thought, she mightpossibly have just been able to free her fingers and her supple handsfrom their bonds. But as it was she was helpless. She could only sitand wait until the audience in the salon grew tired of waiting and cameto her. She closed her eyes, pondering if by any chance she couldexcuse her failure. But her heart sank within her as she thought ofMme. Rossignol's raillery. No, it was all over for her. ... 

She opened her eyes, and she wondered. It seemed to her that there wasmore light in the recess than there had been when she closed them. Verylikely her eyes were growing used to the darkness. Yet--yet--she oughtnot to be able to distinguish quite so clearly the white pillaropposite to her. She looked towards the glass doors and understood. Thewooden shutters outside the doors were not quite closed. They had beencarelessly left unbolted. A chink from lintel to floor let in a greythread of light. Celia heard the women whispering in the salon, andturned her head to catch the words. 

"Do you hear any sound?"

"No. "

"Was that a hand which touched me?"

"No. "

"We must wait. "

And so silence came again, and suddenly there was quite a rush of lightinto the recess. Celia was startled. She turned her head back againtowards the window. The wooden door had swung a little more open. Therewas a wider chink to let the twilight of that starlit darkness through. And as she looked, the chink slowly broadened and broadened, the doorswung slowly back on hinges which were strangely silent. Celia staredat the widening panel of grey light with a vague terror. It was strangethat she could hear no whisper of wind in the garden. Why, oh, why wasthat latticed door opening so noiselessly? Almost she believed that thespirits after all... And suddenly the recess darkened again, and Celiasat with her heart leaping and shivering in her breast. There wassomething black against the glass doors--a man. He had appeared assilently, as suddenly, as any apparition. He stood blocking out thelight, pressing his face against the glass, peering into the room. Fora moment the shock of horror stunned her. Then she tore frantically atthe cords. All thought of failure, of exposure, of dismissal had fledfrom her. The three poor women--that was her thought--were sittingunwarned, unsuspecting, defenceless in the pitch-blackness of thesalon. A few feet away a man, a thief, was peering in. They werewaiting for strange things to happen in the darkness. Strange andterrible things would happen unless she could free herself, unless shecould warn them. And she could not. Her struggles were mere efforts tostruggle, futile, a shiver from head to foot, and noiseless as ashiver. Adele Rossignol had done her work well and thoroughly. Celia'sarms, her waist, her ankles were pinioned; only the bandage over hermouth seemed to be loosening. Then upon horror, horror was added. Theman touched the glass doors, and they swung silently inwards. They, too, had been carelessly left unbolted. The man stepped without a soundover the sill into the room. And, as he stepped, fear for herself droveout for the moment from Celia's thoughts fear for the three women inthe black room. If only he did not see her! She pressed herself againstthe pillar. He might overlook her, perhaps! His eyes would not be soaccustomed to the darkness of the recess as hers. He might pass herunnoticed--if only he did not touch some fold of her dress. 

And then, in the midst of her terror, she experienced so great arevulsion from despair to joy that a faintness came upon her, and shealmost swooned. She saw who the intruder was. For when he stepped intothe recess he turned towards her, and the dim light struck upon him andshowed her the contour of his face. It was her lover, Harry Wethermill. Why he had come at this hour, and in this strange way, she did notconsider. Now she must attract his eyes, now her fear was lest heshould not see her. 

But he came at once straight towards her. He stood in front of her, looking into her eyes. But he uttered no cry. He made no movement ofsurprise. Celia did not understand it. His face was in the shadow nowand she could not see it. Of course, he was stunned, amazed. But--but--he stood almost as if he had expected to find her there andjust in that helpless attitude. It was absurd, of course, but he seemedto look upon her helplessness as nothing out of the ordinary way. Andhe raised no hand to set her free. A chill struck through her. But thenext moment he did raise his hand and the blood flowed again, at herheart. Of course, she was in the darkness. He had not seen her plight. Even now he was only beginning to be aware of it. For his hand touchedthe bandage over her mouth--tentatively. He felt for the knot under thebroad brim of her hat at the back of her head. He found it. In a momentshe would be free. She kept her head quite still, and then--why was heso long? she asked herself. Oh, it was not possible! But her heartseemed to stop, and she knew that it was not only possible--it wastrue: he was tightening the scarf, not loosening it. The folds boundher lips more surely. She felt the ends drawn close at the back of herhead. In a frenzy she tried to shake her head free. But he held herface firmly and finished his work. He was wearing gloves, she noticedwith horror, just as thieves do. Then his hands slid down her tremblingarms and tested the cord about her wrists. There was something horriblydeliberate about his movements. Celia, even at that moment, even withhim, had the sensation which had possessed her in the salon. It was thepersonal equation on which she was used to rely. But neither Adele northis--this STRANGER was considering her as even a human being. She wasa pawn in their game, and they used her, careless of her terror, herbeauty, her pain. Then he freed from her waist the long cord which ranbeneath the curtain to Adele Rossignol's foot. Celia's first thoughtwas one of relief. He would jerk the cord unwittingly. They would comeinto the recess and see him. And then the real truth flashed in uponher blindingly. He had jerked the cord, but he had jerked itdeliberately. He was already winding it up in a coil as it slidnoiselessly across the polished floor beneath the curtains towards him. He had given a signal to Adele Rossignol. All that woman's scepticismand precaution against trickery had been a mere blind, under cover ofwhich she had been able to pack the girl away securely without arousingher suspicions. Helene Vauquier was in the plot, too. The scarf atCelia's mouth was proof of that. As if to add proof to proof, she heardAdele Rossignol speak in answer to the signal. 

"Are we all ready? Have you got Mme. Dauvray's left hand, Helene?"

"Yes, madame, " answered the maid. 

"And I have her right hand. Now give me yours, and thus we are in acircle about the table. "

Celia, in her mind, could see them sitting about the round table in thedarkness, Mme. Dauvray between the two women, securely held by them. And she herself could not utter a cry--could not move a muscle to helpher. 

Wethermill crept back on noiseless feet to the window, closed thewooden doors, and slid the bolts into their sockets. Yes, HeleneVauquier was in the plot. The bolts and the hinges would not haveworked so smoothly but for her. Darkness again filled the recessinstead of the grey twilight. But in a moment a faint breath of windplayed upon Celia's forehead, and she knew that the man had parted thecurtains and slipped into the room. Celia let her head fall towards hershoulder. She was sick and faint with terror. Her lover was in thisplot--the lover in whom she had felt so much pride, for whose sake shehad taken herself so bitterly to task. He was the associate of AdeleRossignol, of Helene Vauquier. He had used her, Celia, as an instrumentfor his crime. All their hours together at the Villa des Fleurs--hereto-night was their culmination. The blood buzzed in her ears andhammered in the veins of her temples. In front of her eyes the darknesswhirled, flecked with fire. She would have fallen, but she could notfall. Then, in the silence, a tambourine jangled. There was to be aseance to-night, then, and the seance had begun. In a dreadful suspenseshe heard Mme. Dauvray speak. 

CHAPTER XIX

HELENE EXPLAINS

And what she heard made her blood run cold. 

Mme Dauvray spoke in a hushed, awestruck voice. 

"There is a presence in the room. "

It was horrible to Celia that the poor woman was speaking the jargonwhich she herself had taught to her. 

"I will speak to it, " said Mme. Dauvray, and raising her voice alittle, she asked: "Who are you that come to us from the spirit-world?"

No answer came, but all the while Celia knew that Wethermill wasstealing noiselessly across the floor towards that voice which spokethis professional patter with so simple a solemnity. 

"Answer!" she said. And the next moment she uttered a little shrillcry--a cry of enthusiasm. "Fingers touch my forehead--now they touch mycheek--now they touch my throat!"

And upon that the voice ceased. But a dry, choking sound was heard, anda horrible scuffling and tapping of feet upon the polished floor, asound most dreadful. They were murdering her--murdering an old, kindwoman silently and methodically in the darkness. The girl strained andtwisted against the pillar furiously, like an animal in a trap. But thecoils of rope held her; the scarf suffocated her. The scuffling becamea spasmodic sound, with intervals between, and then ceased altogether. A voice spoke--a man's voice--Wethermill's. But Celia would never haverecognised it--it had so shrill and fearful an intonation. 

"That's horrible, " he said, and his voice suddenly rose to a scream. 

"Hush!" Helene Vauquier whispered sharply. "What's the matter?"

"She fell against me--her whole weight. Oh!"

"You are afraid of her!"

"Yes, yes!" And in the darkness Wethermill's voice came querulouslybetween long breaths. "Yes, NOW I am afraid of her!"

Helene Vauquier replied again contemptuously. She spoke aloud and quiteindifferently. Nothing of any importance whatever, one would havegathered, had occurred. 

"I will turn on the light, " she said. And through the chinks in thecurtain the bright light shone. Celia heard a loud rattle upon thetable, and then fainter sounds of the same kind. And as a kind ofhorrible accompaniment there ran the laboured breathing of the man, which broke now and then with a sobbing sound. They were stripping Mme. Dauvray of her pearl necklace, her bracelets, and her rings. Celia hada sudden importunate vision of the old woman's fat, podgy hands loadedwith brilliants. A jingle of keys followed. 

"That's all, " Helene Vauquier said. She might have just turned out thepocket of an old dress. 

There was the sound of something heavy and inert falling with a dullcrash upon the floor. A woman laughed, and again it was Helene Vauquier. 

"Which is the key of the safe?" asked Adele. 

And Helene Vauquier replied:--

"That one. "

Celia heard some one drop heavily into a chair. It was Wethermill, andhe buried his face in his hands. Helene went over to him and laid herhand upon his shoulder and shook him. 

"Do you go and get her jewels out of the safe, " she said, and she spokewith a rough friendliness. 

"You promised you would blindfold the girl, " he cried hoarsely. 

Helene Vauquier laughed. 

"Did I?" she said. "Well, what does it matter?" "There would have beenno need to--" And his voice broke off shudderingly. 

"Wouldn't there? And what of us--Adele and me? She knows certainly thatwe are here. Come, go and get the jewels. The key of the door's on themantelshelf. While you are away we two will arrange the pretty baby inthere. "

She pointed to the recess; her voice rang with contempt. Wethermillstaggered across the room like a drunkard, and picked up the key intrembling fingers. Celia heard it turn in the lock, and the door bang. Wethermill had gone upstairs. 

Celia leaned back, her heart fainting within her. Arrange! It was herturn now. She was to be "arranged. " She had no doubt what sinistermeaning that innocent word concealed. The dry, choking sound, thehorrid scuffling of feet upon the floor, were in her ears. And it hadtaken so long--so terribly long!

She heard the door open again and shut again. Then steps approached therecess. The curtains were flung back, and the two women stood in frontof her--the tall Adele Rossignol with her red hair and her coarse goodlooks and her sapphire dress, and the hard-featured, sallow maid. Themaid was carrying Celia's white coat. They did not mean to murder her, then. They meant to take her away, and even then a spark of hope lit upin the girl's bosom. For even with her illusions crushed she stillclung to life with all the passion of her young soul. 

The two women stood and looked at her; and then Adele Rossignol burstout laughing. Vauquier approached the girl, and Celia had a moment'shope that she meant to free her altogether, but she only loosed thecords which fixed her to the pillar and the high stool. 

"Mademoiselle will pardon me for laughing, " said Adele Rossignolpolitely; "but it was mademoiselle who invited me to try my hand. Andreally, for so smart a young lady, mademoiselle looks too ridiculous. "

She lifted the girl up and carried her back writhing and strugglinginto the salon. The whole of the pretty room was within view, but inthe embrasure of a window something lay dreadfully still and quiet. Celia held her head averted. But it was there, and, though it wasthere, all the while the women joked and laughed, Adele Rossignolfeverishly, Helene Vauquier with a real glee most horrible to see. 

"I beg mademoiselle not to listen to what Adele is saying, " exclaimedHelene. And she began to ape in a mincing, extravagant fashion themanner of a saleswoman in a shop. "Mademoiselle has never looked soravishing. This style is the last word of fashion. It is what there isof most chic. Of course, mademoiselle understands that the costume isnot intended for playing the piano. Nor, indeed, for the ballroom. Itleaps to one's eyes that dancing would be difficult. Nor is it intendedfor much conversation. It is a costume for a mood of quiet reflection. But I assure mademoiselle that for pretty young ladies who are thefavourites of rich old women it is the style most recommended by thecriminal classes. "

All the woman's bitter rancour against Celia, hidden for months beneatha mask of humility, burst out and ran riot now. She went to AdeleRossignol's help, and they flung the girl face downwards upon the sofa. Her face struck the cushion at one end, her feet the cushion at theother. The breath was struck out of her body. She lay with her bosomheaving. 

Helene Vauquier watched her for a moment with a grin, paying herselfnow for her respectful speeches and attendance. 

"Yes, lie quietly and reflect, little fool!" she said savagely. "Wereyou wise to come here and interfere with Helene Vauquier? Hadn't youbetter have stayed and danced in your rags at Montmartre? Are the smartfrocks and the pretty hats and the good dinners worth the price? Askyourself these questions, my dainty little friend!"

She drew up a chair to Celia's side, and sat down upon it comfortably. 

"I will tell you what we are going to do with you, Mlle. Celie. AdeleRossignol and that kind gentleman, M. Wethermill, are going to take youaway with them. You will be glad to go, won't you, dearie? For you loveM. Wethermill, don't you? Oh, they won't keep you long enough for youto get tired of them. Do not fear! But you will not come back, Mile. Celie. No; you have seen too much to-night. And every one will thinkthat Mlle. Celie helped to murder and rob her benefactress. They arecertain to suspect some one, so why not you, pretty one?"

Celia made no movement. She lay trying to believe that no crime hadbeen committed, that that lifeless body did not lie against the wall. And then she heard in the room above a bed wheeled roughly from itsplace. 

The two women heard it too, and looked at one another. 

"He should look in the safe, " said Vauquier. "Go and see what he isdoing. "

And Adele Rossignol ran from the room. 

As soon as she was gone Vauquier followed to the door, listened, closedit gently, and came back. She stooped down. 

"Mlle. Celie, " she said, in a smooth, silky voice, which terrified thegirl more than her harsh tones, "there is just one little thing wrongin your appearance, one tiny little piece of bad taste, if mademoisellewill pardon a poor servant the expression. I did not mention it beforeAdele Rossignol; she is so severe in her criticism, is she not? Butsince we are alone, I will presume to point out to mademoiselle thatthose diamond eardrops which I see peeping out under the scarf are alittle ostentatious in her present predicament. They are a provocationto thieves. Will mademoiselle permit me to remove them?"

She caught her by the neck and lifted her up. She pushed the lace scarfup at the side of Celia's head. Celia began to struggle furiously, convulsively. She kicked and writhed, and a little tearing sound washeard. One of her shoe-buckles had caught in the thin silk covering ofthe cushion and slit it. Helene Vauquier let her fall. She feltcomposedly in her pocket, and drew from it an aluminium flask--the sameflask which Lemerre was afterward to snatch up in the bedroom inGeneva. Celia stared at her in dread. She saw the flask flashing in thelight. She shrank from it. She wondered what new horror was to gripher. Helene unscrewed the top and laughed pleasantly. 

"Mlle. Celie is under control, " she said. "We shall have to teach herthat it is not polite in young ladies to kick. " She pressed Celia downwith a hand upon her back, and her voice changed. "Lie still, " shecommanded savagely. "Do you hear? Do you know what this is, Mlle. Celie?" And she held the flask towards the girl's face. "This isvitriol, my pretty one. Move, and I'll spoil these smooth whiteshoulders for you. How would you like that?"

Celia shuddered from head to foot, and, burying her face in thecushion, lay trembling. She would have begged for death upon her kneesrather than suffer this horror. She felt Vauquier's fingers lingeringwith a dreadful caressing touch upon her shoulders and about herthroat. She was within an ace of the torture, the disfigurement, andshe knew it. She could not pray for mercy. She could only lie quitestill, as she was bidden, trying to control the shuddering of her limbsand body. 

"It would be a good lesson for Mlle. Celie, " Helene continued slowly. "I think that if Mlle. Celie will forgive the liberty I ought toinflict it. One little tilt of the flask and the satin of these prettyshoulders--"

She broke off suddenly and listened. Some sound heard outside had givenCelia a respite, perhaps more than a respite. Helene set the flask downupon the table. Her avarice had got the better of her hatred. Sheroughly plucked the earrings out of the girl's ears. She hid themquickly in the bosom of her dress with her eye upon the door. She didnot see a drop of blood gather on the lobe of Celia's ear and fall intothe cushion on which her face was pressed. She had hardly hidden themaway before the door opened and Adele Rossignol burst into the room. 

"What is the matter?" asked Vauquier. 

"The safe's empty. We have searched the room. We have found nothing, "she cried. 

"Everything is in the safe, " Helene insisted. 

"No. "

The two women ran out of the room and up the stairs. Celia, lying onthe settee, heard all the quiet of the house change to noise andconfusion. It was as though a tornado raged in the room overhead. Furniture was tossed about and over the room, feet stamped and ran, locks were smashed in with heavy blows. For many minutes the stormraged. Then it ceased, and she heard the accomplices clattering downthe stairs without a thought of the noise they made. They burst intothe room. Harry Wethermill was laughing hysterically, like a man offhis head. He had been wearing a long dark overcoat when he entered thehouse; now he carried the coat over his arm. He was in a dinner-jacket, and his black clothes were dusty and disordered. 

"It's all for nothing!" he screamed rather than cried. "Nothing but theone necklace and a handful of rings!"

In a frenzy he actually stooped over the dead woman and questioned her. 

"Tell us--where did you hide them?" he cried. 

"The girl will know, " said Helene. 

Wethermill rose up and looked wildly at Celia. 

"Yes, yes, " he said. 

He had no scruple, no pity any longer for the girl. There was no gainfrom the crime unless she spoke. He would have placed his head in theguillotine for nothing. He ran to the writing-table, tore off half asheet of paper, and brought it over with a pencil to the sofa. He gavethem to Vauquier to hold, and drawing out the sofa from the wallslipped in behind. He lifted up Celia with Rossignol's help, and madeher sit in the middle of the sofa with her feet upon the ground. Heunbound her wrists and fingers, and Vauquier placed the writing-pad andthe paper on the girl's knees. Her arms were still pinioned above theelbows; she could not raise her hands high enough to snatch the scarffrom her lips. But with the pad held up to her she could write. 

"Where did she keep her jewels! Quick! Take the pencil and write, " saidWethermill, holding her left wrist. 

Vauquier thrust the pencil into her right hand, and awkwardly andslowly her gloved fingers moved across the page. 

"I do not know, " she wrote; and, with an oath, Wethermill snatched thepaper up, tore it into pieces, and threw it down. 

"You have got to know, " he said, his face purple with passion, and heflung out his arm as though he would dash his fist into her face. Butas he stood with his arm poised there came a singular change upon hisface. 

"Did you hear anything?" he asked in a whisper. 

All listened, and all heard in the quiet of the night a faint click, and after an interval they heard it again, and after another butshorter interval yet once more. 

"That's the gate, " said Wethermill in a whisper of fear, and a pulse ofhope stirred within Celia. 

He seized her wrists, crushed them together behind her, and swiftlyfastened them once more. Adele Rossignol sat down upon the floor, tookthe girl's feet upon her lap, and quietly wrenched off her shoes. 

"The light, " cried Wethermill in an agonised voice, and Helena Vauquierflew across the room and turned it off. 

All three stood holding their breath, straining their ears in the darkroom. On the hard gravel of the drive outside footsteps became faintlyaudible, and grew louder and came near. Adele whispered to Vauquier:

"Has the girl a lover?"

And Helene Vauquier, even at that moment, laughed quietly. 

All Celia's heart and youth rose in revolt against her extremity. Ifshe could only free her lips! The footsteps came round the corner ofthe house, they sounded on the drive outside the very window of thisroom. One cry, and she would be saved. She tossed back her head andtried to force the handkerchief out from between her teeth. ButWethermill's hand covered her mouth and held it closed. The footstepsstopped, a light shone for a moment outside. The very handle of thedoor was tried. Within a few yards help was there--help and life. Justa frail latticed wooden door stood between her and them. She tried torise to her feet. Adele Rossignol held her legs firmly. She waspowerless. She sat with one desperate hope that, whoever it was who wasin the garden, he would break in. Were it even another murderer, hemight have more pity than the callous brutes who held her now; he couldhave no less. But the footsteps moved away. It was the withdrawal ofall hope. Celia heard Wethermill behind her draw a long breath ofrelief. That seemed to Celia almost the cruellest part of the wholetragedy. They waited in the darkness until the faint click of the gatewas heard once more. Then the light was turned up again. 

"We must go, " said Wethermill. All the three of them were shaken. Theystood looking at one another, white and trembling. They spoke inwhispers. To get out of the room, to have done with the business--thathad suddenly become their chief necessity. 

Adele picked up the necklace and the rings from the satin-wood tableand put them into a pocket-bag which was slung at her waist. 

"Hippolyte shall turn these things into money, " she said. "He shall setabout it to-morrow. We shall have to keep the girl now--until she tellsus where the rest is hidden. "

"Yes, keep her, " said Helene. "We will come over to Geneva in a fewdays, as soon as we can. We will persuade her to tell. " She glanceddarkly at the girl. Celia shivered. 

"Yes, that's it, " said Wethermill. "But don't harm her. She will tellof her own will. You will see. The delay won't hurt now. We can't comeback and search for a little while. "

He was speaking in a quick, agitated voice. And Adele agreed. Thedesire to be gone had killed even their fury at the loss of theirprize. Some time they would come back, but they would not searchnow--they were too unnerved. 

"Helene, " said Wethermill, "get to bed. I'll come up with thechloroform and put you to sleep. "

Helene Vauquier hurried upstairs. It was part of her plan that sheshould be left alone in the villa chloroformed. Thus only couldsuspicion be averted from herself. She did not shrink from thecompletion of the plan now. She went, the strange woman, without atremor to her ordeal. Wethermill took the length of rope which hadfixed Celia to the pillar. 

"I'll follow, " he said, and as he turned he stumbled over the body ofMme. Dauvray. With a shrill cry he kicked it out of his way and creptup the stairs. Adele Rossignol quickly set the room in order. Sheremoved the stool from its position in the recess, and carried it toits place in the hall. She put Celia's shoes upon her feet, looseningthe cord from her ankles. Then she looked about the floor and picked uphere and there a scrap of cord. In the silence the clock upon themantelshelf chimed the quarter past eleven. She screwed the stopper onthe flask of vitriol very carefully, and put the flask away in herpocket. She went into the kitchen and fetched the key of the garage. She put her hat on her head. She even picked up and drew on her gloves, afraid lest she should leave them behind; and then Wethermill came downagain. Adele looked at him inquiringly. 

"It is all done, " he said, with a nod of the head. "I will bring thecar down to the door. Then I'll drive you to Geneva and come back withthe car here. "

He cautiously opened the latticed door of the window, listened for amoment, and ran silently down the drive. Adele closed the door again, but she did not bolt it. She came back into the room; she looked atCelia, as she lay back upon the settee, with a long glance ofindecision. And then, to Celia's surprise--for she had given up allhope--the indecision in her eyes became pity. She suddenly ran acrossthe room and knelt down before Celia. With quick and feverish hands sheuntied the cord which fastened the train of her skirt about her knees. 

At first Celia shrank away, fearing some new cruelty. But Adele's voicecame to her ears, speaking--and speaking with remorse. 

"I can't endure it!" she whispered. "You are so young--too young to bekilled. "

The tears were rolling down Celia's cheeks. Her face was pitiful andbeseeching. 

"Don't look at me like that, for God's sake, child!" Adele went on, andshe chafed the girl's ankles for a moment. 

"Can you stand?" she asked. 

Celia nodded her head gratefully. After all, then, she was not to die. It seemed to her hardly possible. But before she could rise a subduedwhirr of machinery penetrated into the room, and the motor-car cameslowly to the front of the villa. 

"Keep still!" said Adele hurriedly, and she placed herself in front ofCelia. 

Wethermill opened the wooden door, while Celia's heart raced in herbosom. 

"I will go down and open the gate, " he whispered. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. "

Wethermill disappeared; and this time he left the door open. Adelehelped Celia to her feet. For a moment she tottered; then she stoodfirm. 

"Now run!" whispered Adele. "Run, child, for your life!"

Celia did not stop to think whither she should run, or how she shouldescape from Wethermill's search. She could not ask that her lips andher hands might be freed. She had but a few seconds. She had onethought--to hide herself in the darkness of the garden. Celia fledacross the room, sprang wildly over the sill, ran, tripped over herskirt, steadied herself, and was swung off the ground by the arms ofHarry Wethermill. 

"There we are, " he said, with his shrill, wavering laugh. "I opened thegate before. " And suddenly Celia hung inert in his arms. 

The light went out in the salon. Adele Rossignol, carrying Celia'scloak, stepped out at the side of the window. 

"She has fainted, " said Wethermill. "Wipe the mould off her shoes andoff yours too--carefully. I don't want them to think this car has beenout of the garage at all. "

Adele stooped and obeyed. Wethermill opened the door of the car andflung Celia into a seat. Adele followed and took her seat opposite thegirl. Wethermill stepped carefully again on to the grass, and with thetoe of his shoe scraped up and ploughed the impressions which he andAdele Rossignol had made on the ground, leaving those which Celia hadmade. He came back to the window. 

"She has left her footmarks clear enough, " he whispered. "There will beno doubt in the morning that she went of her own free will. "

Then he took the chauffeur's seat, and the car glided silently down thedrive and out by the gate. As soon as it was on the road it stopped. Inan instant Adele Rossignol's head was out of the window. 

"What is it?" she exclaimed in fear. 

Wethermill pointed to the roof. He had left the light burning in HeleneVauquier's room. 

"We can't go back now, " said Adele in a frantic whisper. "No; it isover. I daren't go back. " And Wethermill jammed down the lever. The carsprang forward, and humming steadily over the white road devoured themiles. But they had made their one mistake. 

CHAPTER XX

THE GENEVA ROAD

The car had nearly reached Annecy before Celia woke to consciousness. And even then she was dazed. She was only aware that she was in themotor-car and travelling at a great speed. She lay back, drinking inthe fresh air. Then she moved, and with the movement came to herrecollection and the sense of pain. Her arms and wrists were stillbound behind her, and the cords hurt her like hot wires. Her mouth, however, and her feet were free. She started forward, and AdeleRossignol spoke sternly from the seat opposite. 

"Keep still. I am holding the flask in my hand. If you scream, if youmake a movement to escape, I shall fling the vitriol in your face, " shesaid. 

Celia shrank back, shivering. 

"I won't! I won't!" she whispered piteously. Her spirit was broken bythe horrors of the night's adventure. She lay back and cried quietly inthe darkness of the carriage. The car dashed through Annecy. It seemedincredible to Celia that less than six hours ago she had been diningwith Mme. Dauvray and the woman opposite, who was now her jailer. Mme. Dauvray lay dead in the little salon, and she herself--she dared notthink what lay in front of her. She was to be persuaded--that was theword--to tell what she did not know. Meanwhile her name would beexecrated through Aix as the murderess of the woman who had saved her. Then suddenly the car stopped. There were lights outside. Celia heardvoices. A man was speaking to Wethermill. She started and saw AdeleTace's arm flash upwards. She sank back in terror; and the car rolledon into the darkness. Adele Tace drew a breath of relief. The one pointof danger had been passed. They had crossed the Pont de la Caille, theywere in Switzerland. 

Some long while afterwards the car slackened its speed. By the side ofit Celia heard the sound of wheels and of the hooves of a horse. Asingle-horsed closed landau had been caught up as it jogged along theroad. The motor-car stopped; close by the side of it the driver of thelandau reined in his horse. Wethermill jumped down from the chauffeur'sseat, opened the door of the landau, and then put his head in at thewindow of the car. 

"Are you ready? Be quick!"

Adele turned to Celia. 

"Not a word, remember!"

Wethermill flung open the door of the car. Adele took the girl's feetand drew them down to the step of the car. Then she pushed her out. Wethermill caught her in his arms and carried her to the landau. Celiadared not cry out. Her hands were helpless, her face at the mercy ofthat grim flask. Just ahead of them the lights of Geneva were visible, and from the lights a silver radiance overspread a patch of sky. Wethermill placed her in the landau; Adele sprang in behind her andclosed the door. The transfer had taken no more than a few seconds. Thelandau jogged into Geneva; the motor turned and sped back over thefifty miles of empty road to Aix. 

As the motor-car rolled away, courage returned for a moment to Celia. The man--the murderer--had gone. She was alone with Adele Rossignol ina carriage moving no faster than an ordinary trot. Her ankles werefree, the gag had been taken from her lips. If only she could free herhands and choose a moment when Adele was off her guard she might openthe door and spring out on to the road. She saw Adele draw down theblinds of the carriage, and very carefully, very secretly, Celia beganto work her hands behind her. She was an adept; no movement wasvisible, but, on the other hand, no success was obtained. The knots hadbeen too cunningly tied. And then Mme. Rossignol touched a button ather side in the leather of the carriage. 

The touch turned on a tiny lamp in the roof of the carriage, and sheraised a warning hand to Celia. 

"Now keep very quiet. "

Right through the empty streets of Geneva the landau was quietlydriven. Adele had peeped from time to time under the blind. There werefew people in the streets. Once or twice a sergent-de-ville was seenunder the light of a lamp. Celia dared not cry out. Over against her, persistently watching her, Adele Rossignol sat with the open flaskclenched in her hand, and from the vitriol Celia shrank with anoverwhelming terror. The carriage drove out from the town along thewestern edge of the lake. 

"Now listen, " said Adele. "As soon as the landau stops the door of thehouse opposite to which it stops will open. I shall open the carriagedoor myself and you will get out. You must stand close by the carriagedoor until I have got out. I shall hold this flask ready in my hand. Assoon as I am out you will run across the pavement into the house. Youwon't speak or scream. "

Adele Rossignol turned out the lamp and ten minutes later the carriagepassed down the little street and attracted Mme. Gobin's notice. MartheGobin had lit no light in her room. Adele Rossignol peered out of thecarriage. She saw the houses in darkness. She could not see thebusybody's face watching the landau from a dark window. She cut thecords which fastened the girl's hands. The carriage stopped. She openedthe door. Celia sprang out on to the pavement. She sprang so quicklythat Adele Rossignol caught and held the train of her dress. But it wasthe fear of the vitriol which had made her spring so nimbly. It wasthat, too, which made her run so lightly and quickly into the house. The old woman who acted as servant, Jeanne Tace, received her. Celiaoffered no resistance. The fear of vitriol had made her supple as aglove. Jeanne hurried her down the stairs into the little parlour atthe back of the house, where supper was laid, and pushed her into achair. Celia let her arms fall forward on the table. She had no hopenow. She was friendless and alone in a den of murderers, who meantfirst to torture, then to kill her. She would be held up to execrationas a murderess. No one would know how she had died or what she hadsuffered. She was in pain, and her throat burned. She buried her facein her arms and sobbed. All her body shook with her sobbing. JeanneRossignol took no notice. She treated Celie just as the others haddone. Celia was la petite, against whom she had no animosity, by whomshe was not to be touched to any tenderness. La petite hadunconsciously played her useful part in their crime. But her use wasended now, and they would deal with her accordingly. She removed thegirl's hat and cloak and tossed them aside. 

"Now stay quiet until we are ready for you, " she said. And Celia, lifting her head, said in a whisper:

"Water!"

The old woman poured some from a jug and held the glass to Celia's lips. 

"Thank you, " whispered Celia gratefully, and Adele came into the room. She told the story of the night to Jeanne, and afterwards to Hippolytewhen he joined them. 

"And nothing gained!" cried the older woman furiously. "And we havehardly a five-franc piece in the house. "

"Yes, something, " said Adele. "A necklace--a good one--some good rings, and bracelets. And we shall find out where the rest is hid--from her. "And she nodded at Celia. 

The three people ate their supper, and, while they ate it, discussedCelia's fate. She was lying with her head bowed upon her arms at thesame table, within a foot of them. But they made no more of herpresence than if she had been an old shoe. Only once did one of themspeak to her. 

"Stop your whimpering, " said Hippolyte roughly. "We can hardly hearourselves talk. "

He was for finishing with the business altogether to-night. 

"It's a mistake, " he said. "There's been a bungle, and the sooner weare rid of it the better. There's a boat at the bottom of the garden. "

Celia listened and shuddered. He would have no more compunction overdrowning her than he would have had over drowning a blind kitten. 

"It's cursed luck, " he said. "But we have got the necklace--that'ssomething. That's our share, do you see? The young spark can look forthe rest. "

But Helene Vauquier's wish prevailed. She was the leader. They wouldkeep the girl until she came to Geneva. 

They took her upstairs into the big bedroom overlooking the lake. Adeleopened the door of the closet, where a truckle-bed stood, and thrustthe girl in. 

"This is my room, " she said warningly, pointing to the bedroom. "Takecare I hear no noise. You might shout yourself hoarse, my pretty one;no one else would hear you. But I should, and afterwards--we should nolonger be able to call you 'my pretty one, ' eh?"

And with a horrible playfulness she pinched the girl's cheek. 

Then with old Jeanne's help she stripped Celia and told her to get intobed. 

"I'll give her something to keep her quiet, " said Adele, and shefetched her morphia-needle and injected a dose into Celia's arm. 

Then they took her clothes away and left her in the darkness. She heardthe key turn in the lock, and a moment after the sound of the bedsteadbeing drawn across the doorway. But she heard no more, for almostimmediately she fell asleep. 

She was awakened some time the next day by the door opening. Old JeanneTace brought her in a jug of water and a roll of bread, and locked herup again. And a long time afterwards she brought her another supply. Yet another day had gone, but in that dark cupboard Celia had no meansof judging time. In the afternoon the newspaper came out with theannouncement that Mme. Dauvray's jewellery had been discovered underthe boards. Hippolyte brought in the newspaper, and, cursing theirstupidity, they sat down to decide upon Celia's fate. That, however, was soon arranged. They would dress her in everything which she worewhen she came, so that no trace of her might be discovered. They wouldgive her another dose of morphia, sew her up in a sack as soon as shewas unconscious, row her far out on to the lake, and sink her with aweight attached. They dragged her out from the cupboard, always withthe threat of that bright aluminium flask before her eyes. She fellupon her knees, imploring their pity with the tears running down hercheeks; but they sewed the strip of sacking over her face so that sheshould see nothing of their preparations. They flung her on the sofa, secured her as Hanaud had found her, and, leaving her in the oldwoman's charge, sent down Adele for her needle and Hippolyte to getready the boat. As Hippolyte opened the door he saw the launch of theChef de la Surete glide along the bank. 

CHAPTER XXI

HANAUD EXPLAINS

This is the story as Mr. Ricardo wrote it out from the statement ofCelia herself and the confession of Adele Rossignol. Obscurities whichhad puzzled him were made clear. But he was still unaware how Hanaudhad worked out the solution. 

"You promised me that you would explain, " he said, when they were bothtogether after the trial was over at Aix. The two men had just finishedluncheon at the Cercle and were sitting over their coffee. Hanaudlighted a cigar. 

"There were difficulties, of course, " he said; "the crime was socarefully planned. The little details, such as the footprints, theabsence of any mud from the girl's shoes in the carriage of themotor-car, the dinner at Annecy, the purchase of the cord, the want ofany sign of a struggle in the little salon, were all carefully thoughtout. Had not one little accident happened, and one little mistake beenmade in consequence, I doubt if we should have laid our hands upon oneof the gang. We might have suspected Wethermill; we should hardly havesecured him, and we should very likely never have known of the Tacefamily. That mistake was, as you no doubt are fully aware--"

"The failure of Wethermill to discover Mme. Dauvray's jewels, " saidRicardo at once. 

"No, my friend, " answered Hanaud. "That made them keep Mlle. Celiealive. It enabled us to save her when we had discovered the whereaboutsof the gang. It did not help us very much to lay our hands upon them. No; the little accident which happened was the entrance of our friendPerrichet into the garden while the murderers were still in the room. Imagine that scene, M. Ricardo. The rage of the murderers at theirinability to discover the plunder for which they had risked theirnecks, the old woman crumpled up on the floor against the wall, thegirl writing laboriously with fettered arms 'I do not know' underthreats of torture, and then in the stillness of the night the clear, tiny click of the gate and the measured, relentless footsteps. Nowonder they were terrified in that dark room. What would be their onethought? Why, to get away--to come back perhaps later, when Mlle. Celieshould have told them what, by the way, she did not know, but in anycase to get away now. So they made their little mistake, and in theirhurry they left the light burning in the room of Helene Vauquier, andthe murder was discovered seven hours too soon for them. "

"Seven hours!" said Mr. Ricardo. 

"Yes. The household did not rise early. It was not until seven that thecharwoman came. It was she who was meant to discover the crime. By thattime the motor-car would have been back three hours ago in its garage. Servettaz, the chauffeur, would have returned from Chambery some timein the morning, he would have cleaned the car, he would have noticedthat there was very little petrol in the tank, as there had been whenhe had left it on the day before. He would not have noticed that someof his many tins which had been full yesterday were empty to-day. Weshould not have discovered that about four in the morning the car wasclose to the Villa Rose and that it had travelled, between midnight andfive in the morning, a hundred and fifty kilometres. "

"But you had already guessed 'Geneva, '" said Ricardo. "At luncheon, before the news came that the car was found, you had guessed it. "

"It was a shot, " said Hanaud. "The absence of the car helped me to makeit. It is a large city and not very far away, a likely place for peoplewith the police at their heels to run to earth in. But if the car hadbeen discovered in the garage I should not have made that shot. Eventhen I had no particular conviction about Geneva. I really wished tosee how Wethermill would take it. He was wonderful. "

"He sprang up. "

"He betrayed nothing but surprise. You showed no less surprise than hedid, my good friend. What I was looking for was one glance of fear. Idid not get it. "

"Yet you suspected him--even then you spoke of brains and audacity. Youtold him enough to hinder him from communicating with the red-hairedwoman in Geneva. You isolated him. Yes, you suspected him. "

"Let us take the case from the beginning. When you first came to me, asI told you, the Commissaire had already been with me. There was aninteresting piece of evidence already in his possession. AdolpheRuel--who saw Wethermill and Vauquier together close by the Casino andoverheard that cry of Wethermill's, 'It is true: I must havemoney!'--had already been with his story to the Commissaire. I knew itwhen Harry Wethermill came into the room to ask me to take up the case. That was a bold stroke, my friend. The chances were a hundred to onethat I should not interrupt my holiday to take up a case because ofyour little dinner-party in London. Indeed, I should not haveinterrupted it had I not known Adolphe Ruel's story. As it was I couldnot resist. Wethermill's very audacity charmed me. Oh yes, I felt thatI must pit myself against him. So few criminals have spirit, M. Ricardo. It is deplorable how few. But Wethermill! See in what a fineposition he would have been if only I had refused. He himself had beenthe first to call upon the first detective in France. And his argument!He loved Mlle. Celie. Therefore she must be innocent! How he stuck toit! People would have said, 'Love is blind, ' and all the more theywould have suspected Mile. Celie. Yes, but they love the blind lover. Therefore all the more would it have been impossible for them tobelieve Harry Wethermill had any share in that grim crime. "

Mr. Ricardo drew his chair closer in to the table. 

"I will confess to you, " he said, "that I thought Mlle. Celie was anaccomplice. "

"It is not surprising, " said Hanaud. "Some one within the house was anaccomplice--we start with that fact. The house had not been brokeninto. There was Mlle. Celie's record as Helene Vauquier gave it to us, and a record obviously true. There was the fact that she had got rid ofServettaz. There was the maid upstairs very ill from the chloroform. What more likely than that Mlle. Celie had arranged a seance, and thenwhen the lights were out had admitted the murderer through thatconvenient glass door?"

"There were, besides, the definite imprints of her shoes, " said Mr. Ricardo. 

"Yes, but that is precisely where I began to feel sure that she wasinnocent, " replied Hanaud dryly. "All the other footmarks had been socarefully scored and ploughed up that nothing could be made of them. Yet those little ones remained so definite, so easily identified, and Ibegan to wonder why these, too, had not been cut up and stamped over. The murderers had taken, you see, an excess of precaution to throw thepresumption of guilt upon Mlle. Celie rather than upon Vauquier. However, there the footsteps were. Mlle. Celie had sprung from the roomas I described to Wethermill. But I was puzzled. Then in the room Ifound the torn-up sheet of notepaper with the words, 'Je ne sais pas, 'in mademoiselle's handwriting. The words might have beenspirit-writing, they might have meant anything. I put them away in mymind. But in the room the settee puzzled me. And again I wastroubled--greatly troubled. "

"Yes, I saw that. "

"And not you alone, " said Hanaud, with a smile. "Do you remember thatloud cry Wethermill gave when we returned to the room and once more Istood before the settee? Oh, he turned it off very well. I had saidthat our criminals in France were not very gentle with their victims, and he pretended that it was in fear of what Mlle. Celie might besuffering which had torn that cry from his heart. But it was not so. Hewas afraid--deadly afraid--not for Mlle. Celie, but for himself. He wasafraid that I had understood what these cushions had to tell me. "

"What did they tell you?" asked Ricardo. 

"You know now, " said Hanaud. "They were two cushions, both indented, and indented in different ways. The one at the head was irregularlyindented--something shaped had pressed upon it. It might have been aface--it might not; and there was a little brown stain which was freshand which was blood. The second cushion had two separate impressions, and between them the cushion was forced up in a thin ridge; and theseimpressions were more definite. I measured the distance between the twocushions, and I found this: that supposing--and it was a largesupposition--the cushions had not been moved since those impressionswere made, a girl of Mlle. Celie's height lying stretched out upon thesofa would have her face pressing down upon one cushion and her feetand insteps upon the other. Now, the impressions upon the secondcushion and the thin ridge between them were just the impressions whichmight have been made by a pair of shoes held close together. But thatwould not be a natural attitude for any one, and the mark upon the headcushion was very deep. Supposing that my conjectures were true, then awoman would only lie like that because she was helpless, because shehad been flung there, because she could not lift herself--because, in aword, her hands were tied behind her back and her feet fastenedtogether. Well, then, follow this train of reasoning, my friend!Suppose my conjectures--and we had nothing but conjectures to buildupon-were true, the woman flung upon the sofa could not be HeleneVauquier, for she would have said so; she could have had no reason forconcealment. But it must be Mlle. Celie. There was the slit in the onecushion and the stain on the other which, of course, I had notaccounted for. There was still, too, the puzzle of the footstepsoutside the glass doors. If Mlle. Celie had been bound upon the sofa, how came she to run with her limbs free from the house? There was aquestion--a question not easy to answer. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Ricardo. 

"Yes; but there was also another question. Suppose that Mlle. Celiewas, after all, the victim, not the accomplice; suppose she had beenflung tied upon the sofa; suppose that somehow the imprint of her shoesupon the ground had been made, and that she had afterwards been carriedaway, so that the maid might be cleared of all complicity--in that caseit became intelligible why the other footprints were scored out andhers left. The presumption of guilt would fall upon her. There would beproof that she ran hurriedly from the room and sprang into a motor-carof her own free will. But, again, if that theory were true, then HeleneVauquier was the accomplice and not Mlle. Celie. "

"I follow that. "

"Then I found an interesting piece of evidence with regard to thestrange woman who came: I picked up a long red hair--a very importantpiece of evidence about which I thought it best to say nothing at all. It was not Mlle. Celie's hair, which is fair; nor Vauquier's, which isblack; nor Mme. Dauvray's, which is dyed brown; nor the charwoman's, which is grey. It was, therefore, the visitor's. Well, we went upstairsto Mile. Celie's room. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Ricardo eagerly. "We are coming to the pot of cream. "

"In that room we learnt that Helene Vauquier, at her own request, hadalready paid it a visit. It is true the Commissaire said that he hadkept his eye on her the whole time. But none the less from the windowhe saw me coming down the road, and that he could not have done, as Imade sure, unless he had turned his back upon Vauquier and leaned outof the window. Now at the time I had an open mind about Vauquier. Onthe whole I was inclined to think she had no share in the affair. Buteither she or Mlle. Celie had, and perhaps both. But one of them--yes. That was sure. Therefore I asked what drawers she touched after theCommissaire had leaned out of the window. For if she had any motive inwishing to visit the room she would have satisfied it when theCommissaire's back was turned. He pointed to a drawer, and I took out adress and shook it, thinking that she may have wished to hidesomething. But nothing fell out. On the other hand, however, I saw somequite fresh grease-marks, made by fingers, and the marks were wet. Ibegan to ask myself how it was that Helene Vauquier, who had just beenhelped to dress by the nurse, had grease upon her fingers. Then Ilooked at a drawer which she had examined first of all. There were nogrease-marks on the clothes she had turned over before the Commissaireleaned out of the window. Therefore it followed that during the fewseconds when he was watching me she had touched grease. I looked aboutthe room, and there on the dressing-table close by the chest of drawerswas a pot of cold cream. That was the grease Helene Vauquier hadtouched. And why--if not to hide some small thing in it which, firstly, she dared not keep in her own room; which, secondly, she wished to hidein the room of Mlle. Celie; and which, thirdly, she had not had anopportunity to hide before? Now bear those three conditions in mind, and tell me what the small thing was. "

Mr. Ricardo nodded his head. 

"I know now, " he said. "You told me. The earrings of Mlle. Celie. But Ishould not have guessed it at the time. "

"Nor could I--at the time, " said Hanaud. "I kept my open mind aboutHelene Vauquier; but I locked the door and took the key. Then we wentand heard Vauquier's story. The story was clever, because so much of itwas obviously, indisputably true. The account of the seances, of Mme. Dauvray's superstitions, her desire for an interview with Mme. DeMontespan--such details are not invented. It was interesting, too, toknow that there had been a seance planned for that night! The method ofthe murder began to be clear. So far she spoke the truth. But then shelied. Yes, she lied, and it was a bad lie, my friend. She told us thatthe strange woman Adele had black hair. Now I carried in my pocket-bookproof that that woman's hair was red. Why did she lie, except to makeimpossible the identification of that strange visitor? That was thefirst false step taken by Helene Vauquier. 

"Now let us take the second. I thought nothing of her rancour againstMlle. Celie. To me it was all very natural. She--the hard peasant womanno longer young, who had been for years the confidential servant ofMme. Dauvray, and no doubt had taken her levy from the impostors whopreyed upon her credulous mistress--certainly she would hate this youngand pretty outcast whom she has to wait upon, whose hair she has todress. Vauquier--she would hate her. But if by any chance she were inthe plot--and the lie seemed to show she was--then the seances showedme new possibilities. For Helene used to help Mlle. Celie. Suppose thatthe seance had taken place, that this sceptical visitor with the redhair professed herself dissatisfied with Vauquier's method of testingthe medium, had suggested another way, Mlle. Celie could not object, and there she would be neatly and securely packed up beyond the powerof offering any resistance, before she could have a suspicion thatthings were wrong. It would be an easy little comedy to play. And ifthat were true--why, there were my sofa cushions partly explained. "

"Yes, I see!" cried Ricardo, with enthusiasm. "You are wonderful. "

Hanaud was not displeased with his companion's enthusiasm. 

"But wait a moment. We have only conjectures so far, and one fact thatHelene Vauquier lied about the colour of the strange woman's hair. Nowwe get another fact. Mlle. Celie was wearing buckles on her shoes. Andthere is my slit in the sofa cushions. For when she is flung on to thesofa, what will she do? She will kick, she will struggle. Of course itis conjecture. I do not as yet hold pigheadedly to it. I am not yetsure that Mlle. Celie is innocent. I am willing at any moment to admitthat the facts contradict my theory. But, on the contrary, each factthat I discover helps it to take shape. 

"Now I come to Helene Vauquier's second mistake. On the evening whenyou saw Mlle. Celie in the garden behind the baccarat-rooms you noticedthat she wore no jewellery except a pair of diamond eardrops. In thephotograph of her which Wethermill showed me, again she was wearingthem. Is it not, therefore, probable that she usually wore them? When Iexamined her room I found the case for those earrings--the case wasempty. It was natural, then, to infer that she was wearing them whenshe came down to the seance. "

"Yes. "

"Well, I read a description--a carefully written description--of themissing girl, made by Helene Vauquier after an examination of thegirl's wardrobe. There is no mention of the earrings. So I askedher--'Was she not wearing them?' Helene Vauquier was taken by surprise. How should I know anything of Mlle. Celie's earrings? She hesitated. She did not quite know what answer to make. Now, why? Since she herselfdressed Mile. Celie, and remembers so very well all she wore, why doesshe hesitate? Well, there is a reason. She does not know how much Iknow about those diamond eardrops. She is not sure whether we have notdipped into that pot of cold cream and found them. Yet without knowingshe cannot answer. So now we come back to our pot of cold cream. "

"Yes!" cried Mr. Ricardo. "They were there. "

"Wait a bit, " said Hanaud. "Let us see how it works out. Remember theconditions. Vauquier has some small thing which she must hide, andwhich she wishes to hide in Mlle. Celie's room. For she admitted thatit was her suggestion that she should look through mademoiselle'swardrobe. For what reason does she choose the girl's room, except thatif the thing were discovered that would be the natural place for it? Itis, then, something belonging to Mlle. Celie. There was a secondcondition we laid down. It was something Vauquier had not been able tohide before. It came, then, into her possession last night. Why couldshe not bide it last night? Because she was not alone. There were theman and the woman, her accomplices. It was something, then, which shewas concerned in hiding from them. It is not rash to guess, then, thatit was some piece of the plunder of which the other two would haveclaimed their share--and a piece of plunder belonging to Mlle. Celie. Well, she has nothing but the diamond eardrops. Suppose Vauquier isleft alone to guard Mlle. Celie while the other two ransack Mme. Dauvray's room. She sees her chance. The girl cannot stir hand or footto save herself. Vauquier tears the eardrops in a hurry from herears--and there I have my drop of blood just where I should expect itto be. But now follow this! Vauquier hides the earrings in her pocket. She goes to bed in order to be chloroformed. She knows that it is verypossible that her room will be searched before she regainsconsciousness, or before she is well enough to move. There is only oneplace to hide them in, only one place where they will be safe. In bedwith her. But in the morning she must get rid of them, and a nurse iswith her. Hence the excuse to go to Mlle. Celie's room. If the eardropsare found in the pot of cold cream, it would only be thought that Mlle. Celie had herself hidden them there for safety. Again it is conjecture, and I wish to make sure. So I tell Vauquier she can go away, and Ileave her unwatched. I have her driven to the depot instead of to herfriends, and searched. Upon her is found the pot of cream, and in thecream Mlle. Celie's eardrops. She has slipped into Mlle. Celie's room, as, if my theory was correct, she would be sure to do, and put the potof cream into her pocket. So I am now fairly sure that she is concernedin the murder. 

"We then went to Mme. Dauvray's room and discovered her brilliants andher ornaments. At once the meaning of that agitated piece ofhand-writing of Mlle. Celie's becomes clear. She is asked where thejewels are hidden. She cannot answer, for her mouth, of course, isstopped. She has to write. Thus my conjectures get more and moresupport. And, mind this, one of the two women is guilty--Celie orVauquier. My discoveries all fit in with the theory of Celie'sinnocence. But there remain the footprints, for which I found noexplanation. 

"You will remember I made you all promise silence as to the finding ofMme. Dauvray's jewellery. For I thought, if they have taken the girlaway so that suspicion may fall on her and not on Vauquier, they meanto dispose of her. But they may keep her so long as they have a chanceof finding out from her Mme. Dauvray's hiding-place. It was a smallchance but our only one. The moment the discovery of the jewellery waspublished the girl's fate was sealed, were my theory true. 

"Then came our advertisement and Mme. Gobin's written testimony. Therewas one small point of interest which I will take first: her statementthat Adele was the Christian name of the woman with the red hair, thatthe old woman who was the servant in that house in the suburb of Genevacalled her Adele, just simply Adele. That interested me, for HeleneVauquier had called her Adele too when she was describing to us theunknown visitor. 'Adele' was what Mme. Dauvray called her. "

"Yes, " said Ricardo. "Helene Vauquier made a slip there. She shouldhave given her a false name. "

Hanaud nodded. 

"It is the one slip she made in the whole of the business. Nor did sherecover herself very cleverly. For when the Commissaire pounced uponthe name, she at once modified her words. She only thought now that thename was Adele, or something like it. But when I went on to suggestthat the name in any case would be a false one, at once she went backupon her modifications. And now she was sure that Adele was the nameused. I remembered her hesitation when I read Marthe Gobin's letter. They helped to confirm me in my theory that she was in the plot; andthey made me very sure that it was an Adele for whom we had to look. Sofar well. But other statements in the letter puzzled me. For instance, 'She ran lightly and quickly across the pavement into the house, asthough she were afraid to be seen. ' Those were the words, and the womanwas obviously honest. What became of my theory then? The girl was freeto run, free to stoop and pick up the train of her gown in her hand, free to shout for help in the open street if she wanted help. No; thatI could not explain until that afternoon, when I saw Mlle. Celie'sterror-stricken eyes fixed upon that flask, as Lemerre poured a littleout and burnt a hole in the sack. Then I understood well enough. Thefear of vitriol!" Hanaud gave an uneasy shudder. "And it is enough tomake any one afraid! That I can tell you. No wonder she lay still as amouse upon the sofa in the bedroom. No wonder she ran quickly into thehouse. Well, there you have the explanation. I had only my theory towork upon even after Mme. Gobin's evidence. But as it happened it wasthe right one. Meanwhile, of course, I made my inquiries intoWethermill's circumstances. My good friends in England helped me. Theywere precarious. He owed money in Aix, money at his hotel. We knew fromthe motor-car that the man we were searching for had returned to Aix. Things began to look black for Wethermill. Then you gave me a littlepiece of information. "

"I!" exclaimed Ricardo, with a start. 

"Yes. You told me that you walked up to the hotel with Harry Wethermillon the night of the murder and separated just before ten. A glance intohis rooms which I had--you will remember that when we had discoveredthe motor-car I suggested that we should go to Harry Wethermill's roomsand talk it over--that glance enabled me to see that he could veryeasily have got out of his room on to the verandah below and escapedfrom the hotel by the garden quite unseen. For you will remember thatwhereas your rooms look out to the front and on to the slope of MontRevard, Wethermill's look out over the garden and the town of Aix. In aquarter of an hour or twenty minutes he could have reached the VillaRose. He could have been in the salon before half-past ten, and that isjust the hour which suited me perfectly. And, as he got out unnoticed, so he could return. So he did return! My friend, there are someinteresting marks upon the window-sill of Wethermill's room and uponthe pillar just beneath it. Take a look, M. Ricardo, when you return toyour hotel. But that was not all. We talked of Geneva in Mr. Wethermill's room, and of the distance between Geneva and Aix. Do youremember that?"

"Yes, " replied Ricardo. 

"Do you remember too that I asked him for a road-book?"

"Yes; to make sure of the distance. I do. "

"Ah, but it was not to make sure of the distance that I asked for theroad-book, my friend. I asked in order to find out whether HarryWethermill had a road-book at all which gave a plan of the roadsbetween here and Geneva. And he had. He handed it to me at once andquite naturally. I hope that I took it calmly, but I was not at allcalm inside. For it was a new road-book, which, by the way, he bought aweek before, and I was asking myself all the while--now what was Iasking myself, M. Ricardo?"

"No, " said Ricardo, with a smile. "I am growing wary. I will not tellyou what you were asking yourself, M. Hanaud. For even were I right youwould make out that I was wrong, and leap upon me with injuries andgibes. No, you shall drink your coffee and tell me of your own accord. "

"Well, " said Hanaud, laughing, "I will tell you. I was asking myself:'Why does a man who owns no motor-car, who hires no motor-car, go outinto Aix and buy an automobilist's road-map? With what object?' And Ifound it an interesting question. M. Harry Wethermill was not the manto go upon a walking tour, eh? Oh, I was obtaining evidence. But thencame an overwhelming thing--the murder of Marthe Gobin. We know now howhe did it. He walked beside the cab, put his head in at the window, asked, 'Have you come in answer to the advertisement?' and stabbed herstraight to the heart through her dress. The dress and the weapon whichhe used would save him from being stained with her blood. He was inyour room that morning, when we were at the station. As I told you, heleft his glove behind. He was searching for a telegram in answer toyour advertisement. Or he came to sound you. He had already receivedhis telegram from Hippolyte. He was like a fox in a cage, snapping atevery one, twisting vainly this way and that way, risking everythingand every one to save his precious neck. Marthe Gobin was in the way. She is killed. Mlle. Celie is a danger. So Mile. Celie must besuppressed. And off goes a telegram to the Geneva paper, handed in by awaiter from the cafe at the station of Chambery before five o'clock. Wethermill went to Chambery that afternoon when we went to Geneva. Oncewe could get him on the run, once we could so harry and bustle him thathe must take risks--why, we had him. And that afternoon he had to takethem. "

"So that even before Marthe Gobin was killed you were sure thatWethermill was the murderer?"

Hanaud's face clouded over. 

"You put your finger on a sore place, M. Ricardo. I was sure, but Istill wanted evidence to convict. I left him free, hoping for thatevidence. I left him free, hoping that he would commit himself. He did, but--well, let us talk of some one else. What of Mlle. Celie?"

Ricardo drew a letter from his pocket. 

"I have a sister in London, a widow, " he said. "She is kind. I, too, have been thinking of what will become of Mlle. Celie. I wrote to mysister, and here is her reply. Mlle. Celie will be very welcome. "

Hanaud stretched out his hand and shook Ricardo's warmly. 

"She will not, I think, be for very long a burden. She is young. Shewill recover from this shock. She is very pretty, very gentle. If--ifno one comes forward whom she loves and who loves her--I--yes, Imyself, who was her papa for one night, will be her husband forever. "

He laughed inordinately at his own joke; it was a habit of M. Hanaud's. Then he said gravely:

"But I am glad, M. Ricardo, for Mlle. Celie's sake that I came to youramusing dinner-party in London. "

Mr. Ricardo was silent for a moment. Then he asked:

"And what will happen to the condemned?"

"To the women? Imprisonment for life. "

"And to the man?"

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders. 

"Perhaps the guillotine. Perhaps New Caledonia. How can I say? I am notthe President of the Republic. "

END