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Updated: May 25, 2025
It is not easy to search Geneva and find, when we know nothing about the woman for whom we are searching, except that her hair is red, and that probably a young girl last night was with her. It is rather here, I think in Aix that we must keep our eyes wide open." "Here!" cried Wethermill in exasperation. He stared at Hanaud as though he were mad.
The three men went straight to Harry Wethermill's apartment, which consisted of a sitting-room and a bedroom on the first floor. A balcony ran along outside. Hanaud stepped out on to it, looked about him, and returned. "It is as well to know that we cannot be overheard," he said. Harry Wethermill meanwhile had thrown himself into a chair.
"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 he spoke again in French to Helene Vauquier. "Well, continue, mademoiselle! Assume that the company is assembled for our seance." "Then Mlle.
"Then we will add the earrings to your description," said Hanaud, as he rose from his chair with the paper in his hand, "and for the moment we need not trouble you any more about Mademoiselle Celie." He folded the paper up, slipped it into his letter-case, and put it away in his pocket. "Let us consider that poor Madame Dauvray! Did she keep much money in the house?" "No, monsieur; very little.
It had been sent from Geneva, and it ran thus: "Expect me soon after three. Hanaud nodded his head. "I told you I had hopes." All his levity had gone in an instant from his 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 an hour or two may dash for ever to the ground?
Hanaud looked round the room and shook his head. "No," he said. "But yes, monsieur," Perrichet insisted. "Oh, but yes. See! Upon this dressing-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 is gone." Hanaud burst into a laugh.
They came to a steep flight of steps which makes a short cut from the hotel to the road, and at the steps Hanaud stopped. "Do you see?" he said. "On the opposite side there are no houses; there is only a wall. Behind the wall there are climbing gardens and the ground falls steeply to the turn of the road below.
He had forgotten Wethermill; he had forgotten even the dead woman shrouded beneath the sheet. He was absorbed. His eyes were bright, his whole face vivid with life. Ricardo saw the real man at this moment and feared for the happiness of Harry Wethermill. For nothing would Hanaud now turn aside until he had reached the truth and set his hands upon the quarry. Of that Ricardo felt sure.
"Will monsieur let me see?" asked Wethermill, and he took the case in his hands. "Yes," he said. "Mlle. Celie's ear-drops," and he handed the case back with a thoughtful air. It was the first time he had taken a definite part in the investigation. To Ricardo the reason was clear. Harry Wethermill had himself given those ear-drops to Celia. Hanaud replaced the case and turned round.
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.
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