"MARTHE GOBIN."
Hanaud leant back with an extraordinary look of perplexity upon
his face. But to Ricardo the whole story was now clear. Here was
an independent witness, without the jealousy or rancours of Helene
Vauquier. Nothing could be more damning than her statement; it
corroborated those footmarks upon the soil in front of the glass
door of the salon. There was nothing to be done except to set
about arresting Mlle. Celie at once.
"The facts work with your theory, M. Hanaud. The young man with
the black moustache did not return to the house at Geneva. For
somewhere upon the road close to Geneva he met the carriage. He
was driving back the car to Aix--" And then another thought struck
him: "But no!" he cried. "We are altogether wrong. See! They did
not reach home until five minutes to three."
Five minutes to three! But this demolished the whole of Hanaud's
theory about the motor-car. The murderers had left the villa
between eleven and twelve, probably before half-past eleven. The
car was a machine of sixty horse-power, and the roads were certain
to be clear. Yet the travellers only reached their home at three.
Moreover, the car was back in Aix at four. It was evident they did
not travel by the car.
"Geneva time is an hour later than French time," said Hanaud
shortly. It seemed as if the corroboration of this letter
disappointed him. "A quarter to three in Mme. Gobin's house would
be a quarter to two by our watches here."
Hanaud folded up the letter, and rose to his feet.
"We will go now, and we will take this letter with us." Hanaud
looked about the room, and picked up a glove lying upon a table.
"I left this behind me," he said, putting it into his pocket. "By
the way, where is the telegram from Marthe Gobin?"
"You put it in your letter-case."
"Oh, did I?"
Hanaud took out his letter-case and found the telegram within it.
His face lightened.
"Good!" he said emphatically. "For, since we have this telegram,
there must have been another message sent from Adele Rossignol to
Aix saying that Marthe Gobin, that busybody, that inquisitive
neighbour, who had no doubt seen M. Ricardo's advertisement, was
on her way hither. Oh it will not be put as crudely as that, but
that is what the message will mean. We shall have him." And
suddenly his face grew very stern. "I MUST catch him, for Marthe
Gobin's death I cannot forgive. A poor woman meaning no harm, and
murdered like a sheep under our noses. No, that I cannot forgive."
Ricardo wondered whether it was the actual murder of Marthe Gobin
or the fact that he had been beaten and outwitted which Hanaud
could not forgive. But discretion kept him silent.