Into the light eyes of M. Fleuriot there came a cold, bright
gleam. He took a step forward. His face seemed to narrow to a
greater sharpness. In a moment, to Mr. Ricardo's thought, he
ceased to be the judge; he dropped from his high office; he
dwindled into a fanatic.
"She is a Jewess, this Celia Harland?" he cried.
"No, M. Fleuriot, she is not," replied Wethermill. "I do not speak
in disparagement of that race, for I count many friends amongst
its members. But Celia Harland is not one of them."
"Ah!" said Fleuriot; and there was something of disappointment,
something, too, of incredulity, in his voice. "Well, you will come
and report to me when you have made your investigation." And he
passed on without another question or remark.
The group of men watched him go, and it was not until he was out
of earshot that Besnard turned with a deprecating gesture to
Hanaud.
"Yes, yes, he is a good judge, M. Hanaud--quick, discriminating,
sympathetic; but he has that bee in his bonnet, like so many
others. Everywhere he must see l'affaire Dreyfus. He cannot get it
out of his head. No matter how insignificant a woman is murdered,
she must have letters in her possession which would convict
Dreyfus. But you know! There are thousands like that--good,
kindly, just people in the ordinary ways of life, but behind every
crime they see the Jew."
Hanaud nodded his head.
"I know; and in a Juge d'Instruction it is very embarrassing. Let
us walk on."
Half-way between the gate and the villa a second carriage-road
struck off to the left, and at the entrance to it stood a young,
stout man in black leggings.
"The chauffeur?" asked Hanaud. "I will speak to him."
The Commissaire called the chauffeur forward.
"Servettaz," he said, "you will answer any questions which
monsieur may put to you."
"Certainly, M. le Commissaire," said the chauffeur. His manner was
serious, but he answered readily. There was no sign of fear upon
his face.
"How long have you been with Mme. Dauvray?" Hanaud asked.
"Four months, monsieur. I drove her to Aix from Paris."
"And since your parents live at Chambery you wished to seize the
opportunity of spending a day with them while you were so near?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"When did you ask for permission?"
"On Saturday, monsieur."
"Did you ask particularly that you should have yesterday, the
Tuesday?"
"No, monsieur; I asked only for a day whenever it should be
convenient to madame."
"Quite so," said Hanaud. "Now, when did Mme. Dauvray tell you that
you might have Tuesday?"
Servettaz hesitated. His face became troubled. When he spoke, he
spoke reluctantly.
"It was not Mme. Dauvray, monsieur, who told me that I might go on
Tuesday," he said.