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Renine took a water-bottle and tumbler from a small table, filled the glass and handed it to M. de Lourtier, who sipped a few mouthfuls from it and then, pulling himself together, continued, in a voice which he strove to make firmer than it had been: "Very well. We'll admit your supposition. Even so, it is necessary that it should lead to tangible results. What have you done?"
We now know the connection between the unfortunate victims. There can be no mistake about it. It's that and nothing else. And how this method of choosing confirms my theory! What proof of madness! Why kill these women rather than any others? Because their names begin with an H and consist of eight letters! You understand me, M. de Lourtier, do you not? The number of letters is eight.
Without a word, the two men left the flat and ran down to the avenue. Renine hustled M. de Lourtier into the car: "What address?" "Ville d'Avray." "Of course! In the very center of her operations ... like a spider in the middle of her web! Oh, the shame of it!" He was profoundly agitated. He saw the whole adventure in its monstrous reality.
The woman seated was holding her forehead in her hands and gazing at the woman who was lying down. "It's she," whispered M. de Lourtier, who had also climbed the wall. "The other one is bound." Renine took from his pocket a glazier's diamond and cut out one of the panes without making enough noise to arouse the madwoman's attention.
His first movement was one of surprise, as though he had expected something different. Then he gave a long, loud laugh of something like joy and relief. "Why do you laugh, M. de Lourtier? You seem pleased." "Pleased, no. But this letter is signed by my wife." "And you were afraid of finding something else?" "Oh no! But since it's my wife...."
Besides, it was better that the cottage should be empty when the old nurse announced the madwoman's suicide. Renine gave Felicienne minute directions as to what she should do and say; and then, assisted by the chauffeur and M. de Lourtier, carried Hortense to the car and brought her home. She was soon convalescent.
M. de Lourtier briefly presented his visitor and asked his wife: "Suzanne, is this express message from you?" "To Mlle. Herminie, Boulevard Haussmann? Yes," she said, "I sent it. As you know, our parlour-maid's leaving and I'm looking out for a new one." Renine interrupted her: "Excuse me, madame. Just one question: where did you get the woman's address?" She flushed.
I stared at the list twenty times over, before that little detail took a definite shape." "I don't follow you," said M. de Lourtier-Vaneau. "M. de Lourtier, it may be noted that, if a number of persons are brought together in any transaction, or crime, or public scandal or what not, they are almost invariably described in the same way.
"No, no," said M. de Lourtier, with the perspiration streaming down his forehead. "No ... but all this story is so upsetting! Only think, I knew one of the victims! And then...."
Nothing could be more crafty, more patient, more persistent, more dangerous and at the same time more absurd and more logical, more slovenly and more methodical. All these epithets, M. de Lourtier, may be applied to the doings of the lady with the hatchet. The obsession of an idea and the continual repetition of an act are characteristics of the maniac.
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