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"I have not been very happy either," said Thérèse, "for I lost my father when I was tiny: I don't even remember him; and mamma must be dead as well." The ambiguous turning of the child's phrase caught Charles Rambert's interested attention. "What does that mean, Thérèse? Don't you know if your mother is dead?" "Yes, oh yes; grandmamma says so.

"Now I should like to remind you of young Charles Rambert's equivocal behaviour in the course of the evening that preceded the crime. It struck President Bonnet and shocked the priest. I also recall his hereditary antecedents, his mothers insanity, and finally " Juve broke off abruptly and unceremoniously dragged the magistrate out of the room and into Charles Rambert's bedroom.

"That will be immensely important," M. de Presles agreed. "Even if it does away with our present certainty of Charles Rambert's guilt, we shall be able to find out whether the murder was committed by any other occupant of the house still assuming that it was committed by some member of the household."

"Solved it!" M. Fuselier flicked the ash off his cigarette, and leant forward towards the detective. "Of course you know that I know you were at the Cahors Assizes, Juve? What was your impression of the whole affair of the verdict, and of Etienne Rambert's guilt or innocence?" Juve got up and began to walk up and down the room, followed by the magistrate's eyes.

Rambert's messenger punctually at two, he ran up to his wife's room to tell her about his visit before he secluded himself for the rest of the afternoon over his work. On entering the bedroom he found it still darkened, and he was struck by a smell of burned paper in it. Her eyes were evidently still weak, for she kept her hand over them while she spoke.

Carling was so extraordinary and so unaccountable that her husband fairly stood aghast. For the first time since their marriage he saw her temper suddenly in a flame. She started up from the sofa and walked about the room as if she had lost her senses, upbraiding him for making the weakest of concessions to Mr. Rambert's insolent assumption that the rector was to blame.

No explosives are carried on these great liners; they only take passengers and the mails." He scanned the list of passengers. "Etienne Rambert's name is given among the first-class passengers, right enough," he said. "Well, it's odd!" Jérôme Fandor heaved a profound sigh. "It is a fatality which I shall never get over," he said.

Shamelessly resolved to assure perfect quiet to "his" passenger, he managed, without unduly compromising himself but yet without leaving any doubt about it in any mind, to insinuate discreetly that M. Rambert's carriage was reserved, so that that gentleman might count upon an entirely undisturbed night.

"Suppose that is true," said the President with a wave of his hand, "but what have you to say to this: you charge Etienne Rambert with the murder of Mme. de Langrune; but do you not know that Etienne Rambert's son, Charles Rambert, who, according to the generally received, and most plausible, opinion was the real murderer of the Marquise, committed suicide from remorse?

I was quite glad to be in this place! For I felt safe here. But now I am not sure of that. I must go, but I must not go merely to return to my husband! I must be free, free to go to those who will help me to escape from the horrible trap in which I have spent the last few years of my life!" Mme. Rambert's earnest tone convinced the attendant in spite of her own instinct.