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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Well, one night in June," said Helene Vauquier, "madame went with a party to supper at the Abbaye Restaurant in Montmartre. And she brought home for the first time Mlle. Celie. But you should have seen her! She had on a little plaid skirt and a coat which was falling to pieces, and she was starving yes, starving. Madame told me the story that night as I undressed her. Mlle.
Helene nodded at her with a cruel grin of satisfaction, and Celia realised, though she did not understand, something of the rancour and the hatred which seethed against her in the heart of the woman whom she had supplanted. Helene Vauquier meant to expose her to-night; Celia had not a doubt of it.
He crossed carelessly to the open window which overlooked the road and, leaning out of it, looked up the road to the corner round which he and his friends had come, precisely as the Commissaire had done. Then he turned back into the room. "Which was the last cupboard or drawer that Helene Vauquier touched?" he asked. "This one."
That he was in desperate straits now, probably Helene Vauquier alone in Aix had recognised. She had drawn her inference from one simple fact. Wethermill asked her at a later time when they were better acquainted how she had guessed his need.
But Hanaud turned towards him, and, though Hanaud's face retained its benevolent expression, there was a glitter in his eyes which sent the blood into Ricardo's face. "Did you speak again, M. Ricardo?" the detective asked. "No? I thought it was not possible." He turned back to Helene Vauquier. "So Mlle. Celie practised seances. That is very strange. We will hear about them.
"What did you do with the key on Tuesday?" "I gave it to Helene Vauquier, monsieur, after I had locked up the garage. And she hung it on a nail in the kitchen." "I see," said Hanaud. "So any one could easily, have found it last night?" "Yes, monsieur if one knew where to look for it." At the back of the garage a row of petrol-tins stood against the brick wall.
Celie dress herself with so much elegance last night? What Vauquier said is true. Her dress was not suited to a seance. A light-coloured, rustling frock, which would be visible in a dim light, or even in the dark, which would certainly be heard at every movement she made, however lightly she stepped, and a big hat no no!
There was a moment's silence, and then Hanaud said: "That is all very well, Mlle. Vauquier. But it does not account for the lace coat in which the girl went away. She must have returned to her room to fetch that after you had gone to bed." Helene Vauquier leaned back with an air of disappointment. "That is true. I had forgotten the coat. I did not like Mlle. Celie, but I am not wicked "
Celia took them hurriedly, picked up a white scarf of tulle, and ran down the stairs. Helene Vauquier listened at the door and heard madame's voice in feverish anger. "We have been waiting for you, Celie. You have been an age." Helene Vauquier laughed softly to herself, took out Celia's white frock from the wardrobe, turned off the lights, and followed her down to the hall.
"Yes, la petite is under control," she repeated, with a sneer; and all the elegance of her velvet gown was unable to hide her any longer from Celia's knowledge. Her grin had betrayed her. She was of the dregs. But Helene Vauquier whispered: "Keep still, mademoiselle. I shall help you." Vauquier carried the girl into the recess and placed her upon the stool.
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