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Updated: June 16, 2025
Our police system is, I think, a little more complete than yours in England. Helene Vauquier has served Mme. Dauvray for seven years. She has been the confidential friend rather than the maid. And mark this, M. Wethermill! During those seven years how many opportunities has she had of conniving at last night's crime? She was found chloroformed and bound.
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 attention to 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?"
Natalie absolutely debars all other visitors from meeting her young ward. Only her physician and Pere Francois can watch these studio labors. She fears Hardin's emissaries only. Many visits to the studio are made by Villa Rocca. He is a lover of the "beaux-arts." The days fly by pleasantly. Natalie is playing a cool game now. Pere Francois and Raoul Dauvray are ever in her charmed circle.
She comes suddenly to Aix as the companion of Mme. Dauvray a young and pretty English girl. How did she become 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 problem of the case. Was he to have the answer now?
"Why did not such a fine idea occur to me, fool that I am! 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 that little table over there!
The light of my lantern showed me a chair overturned upon the floor, and to my right, below the middle one of the three windows in the right-hand side wall, a woman lying huddled upon the floor. It was Mme. Dauvray. She was dressed. There was a little mud upon her shoes, as though she had walked after the rain had ceased.
It was Celia Harland who arranged that Servettaz, the chauffeur, should be absent at Chambery on the Tuesday night the night of the murder. It was Celia Harland who bought the cord with which Mme. Dauvray was strangled and Helene Vauquier bound. The footsteps outside the salon show that Celia Harland ran from the salon to the motor-car.
She had seen that it was from the denizens of the dull streets in these towns that the quack religions won their recruits. Mme. Dauvray's life had been a featureless sort of affair until these experiments had come to colour it. 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 no more.
"I tried to stop the seances because now for the first time I recognised that I had been playing with a dangerous thing. It was a revelation to me. I did not know what to do. Mme. Dauvray would promise me everything, give me everything, if only I would consent when I refused. I was terribly frightened of what would happen. I did not want power over people.
"Bah! It ought not to deceive a child." Celia sat with a face which WOULD grow red. She did not look, but none the less she was aware that Mme. Dauvray was gazing at her with a perplexed 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 for a seance?"
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