Hanaud nodded his head.
"I think so," he answered, with a very gentle look at Celia. "Yes,
I think so."
When Celia was aroused she found that the car had stopped before
the door of an hotel, and that a woman in the dress of a nurse was
standing in the doorway.
"You can trust Marie," said Hanaud. And Celia turned as she stood
upon the ground and gave her hands to the two men.
"Thank you! Thank you both!" she said in a trembling voice. She
looked at Hanaud and nodded her head. "You understand why I thank
you so very much?"
"Yes," said Hanaud. "But, mademoiselle"--and he bent over the car
and spoke to her quietly, holding her hand--"there is ALWAYS a big
Newfoundland dog in the worst of troubles--if only you will look
for him. I tell you so--I, who belong to the Surete in Paris. Do
not lose heart!" And in his mind he added: "God forgive me for the
lie." He shook her hand and let it go; and gathering up her skirt
she went into the hall of the hotel.
Hanaud watched her as she went. She was to him a lonely and
pathetic creature, in spite of the nurse who bore her company.
"You must be a good friend to that young girl, M. Ricardo," he
said. "Let us drive to your hotel."
"Yes," said Ricardo. And as they went the curiosity which all the
way from Geneva had been smouldering within him burst into flame.
"Will you explain to me one thing?" he asked. "When the scream
came from the garden you were not surprised. Indeed, you said that
when you saw the open door and the morphia-needle on the table of
the little room downstairs you thought Adele and the man Hippolyte
were hiding in the garden."
"Yes, I did think so."
"Why? And why did the publication that the jewels had been
discovered so alarm you?"
"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Did not you understand that? Yet it is surely
clear and obvious, if you once grant that the girl was innocent,
was a witness of the crime, and was now in the hands of the
criminals. Grant me those premisses, M. Ricardo, for a moment, and
you will see that we had just one chance of finding the girl alive
in Geneva. From the first I was sure of that. What was the one
chance? Why, this! She might be kept alive on the chance that she
could be forced to tell what, by the way, she did not know,
namely, the place where Mme. Dauvray's valuable jewels were
secreted. Now, follow this. We, the police, find the jewels and
take charge of them. Let that news reach the house in Geneva, and
on the same night Mlle. Celie loses her life, and not--very
pleasantly. They have no further use for her. She is merely a
danger to them. So I take my precautions--never mind for the
moment what they were. I take care that if the murderer is in Aix
and gets wind of our discovery he shall not be able to communicate
his news."