Ricardo clenched his hands.
"But that's horrible!" he cried; and as he uttered the words the
car swerved into the drive and stopped before the door of the
Hotel Majestic.
Ricardo sprang out. A feeling of remorse seized hold of him. All
through that evening he had not given one thought to Harry
Wethermill, so utterly had the excitement of each moment engrossed
his mind.
"He will be glad to know!" cried Ricardo. "Tonight, at all events,
he shall sleep. I ought to have telegraphed to him from Geneva
that we and Miss Celia were coming back." He ran up the steps into
the hotel.
"I took care that he should know," said Hanaud, as he followed in
Ricardo's steps.
"Then the message could not have reached him, else he would have
been expecting us," replied Ricardo, as he hurried into the
office, where a clerk sat at his books.
"Is Mr. Wethermill in?" he asked.
The clerk eyed him strangely.
"Mr. Wethermill was arrested this evening," he said.
Ricardo stepped back.
"Arrested! When?"
"At twenty-five minutes past ten," replied the clerk shortly.
"Ah," said Hanaud quietly. "That was my telephone message."
Ricardo stared in stupefaction at his companion.
"Arrested!" he cried. "Arrested! But what for?"
"For the murders of Marthe Gobin and Mme. Dauvray," said Hanaud.
"Good-night."