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But Hanaud was supporting Celia; and so, as Lemerre turned abruptly towards him with the flask in his hand, he turned abruptly towards Celia too. She wrenched herself from Hanaud's arms, she shrank violently away. Her white face flushed scarlet and grew white again. She screamed loudly, terribly; and after the scream she uttered a strange, weak sigh, and so fell sideways in a swoon.
He recalled the look of tenderness upon her face when her eyes had met Harry Wethermill's across the baccarat-table in the Villa des Fleurs. He gained some insight into the reason why she had clung so desperately to Hanaud's coat-sleeve yesterday. Not merely had he saved her life. She was lying with all her world of trust and illusion broken about her, and Hanaud had raised her up.
A faint colour had come back to his cheeks, 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 to make sure." There was one point, and only one, of which he had made every one in that room sure. He had started confident. Here was a sordid crime, easily understood.
He came back to it early this morning." "Ah!" said Ricardo, in a significant exclamation. Wethermill did not stir. He sat still as a stone, with a face deadly white and eyes burning 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 to Chambery by the two o'clock train yesterday.
Then he roused himself from his reverie with a start. "You look out upon Mont Revard, I see. I think M. Wethermill's view over the garden and the town is the better one," he said, and went out of the room. At three o'clock Ricardo called in his car, which was an open car of high power, at Hanaud's hotel, and the two men went to the station.
He was isolating the house in Geneva even so early in the history of his investigations, even so soon he suspected Harry Wethermill. Brains and audacity yes, these two qualities he had stipulated in the criminal. Ricardo now for the first time understood the trend of all Hanaud's talk at that luncheon.
For somewhere upon the road close to Geneva he met the carriage. He was driving back the car to Aix " And then another thought struck him: "But no!" he cried. "We are altogether wrong. See! They did not reach home until five minutes to three." Five minutes to three! But this demolished the whole of Hanaud's theory about the motor-car.
"Listen, mademoiselle, to what she says," said the judge, and he read out to Celia an extract or two from Hanaud's report of his first interview 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.
These run from the glass door to the drive, and, for all the use they are to us, 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. The strictest orders were given and obeyed. The ground, as you see it, is the ground as it was at twelve o'clock last night." Hanaud's face grew thoughtful.
"But there is a shorter way," said Ricardo, running after him: "across the 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 the hotel and dipped to the town. Behind Hanaud's hotel Ricardo's car was waiting. "We must go first to Besnard's office.
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