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The car had hardly been brought out into the sunlight before a cry of stupefaction burst from the lips of Perrichet. "Oh!" he cried, in utter abasement. "I shall never forgive myself never, never!" "Why?" Hanaud asked, turning sharply as he spoke. Perrichet was standing with his round eyes staring and his mouth agape.
They passed no one whom they knew, although they did pass one who recognised them, as Perrichet had discovered. They came upon Adele, waiting for them at the corner of the road, where it turns down toward the villa. "It is near here the Villa Rose?" she asked. "A minute more and we are there." They turned in at the drive, closed the gate behind them, and walked up to the villa.
"It was here that you saw the light at half-past nine?" Hanaud said, turning to Perrichet. "Yes, monsieur," replied Perrichet. "We may assume, then, that Mlle. Celie was changing her dress at that time." Besnard was looking about him, opening a drawer here, a wardrobe there. "Mlle.
Perrichet was a young, thick-set man, with, a red, fair face, and a moustache and hair so pale in colour that they were almost silver. He came into the room with an air of importance. "Aha!" said Hanaud, with a malicious smile. "You went to bed late last night, my friend. Yet you were up early enough to read the newspaper. Well, I am to have the honour of being associated with you in this case."
The police are properly reticent as to the details of the crime, but the following statement may be accepted without hesitation: "The murder was discovered at twelve o'clock at night by the sergent-de-ville Perrichet, to whose intelligence more than a word of praise is due, and it is obvious from the absence of all marks upon the door and windows that the murderer was admitted from within the villa.
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