At The Villa Rose

On the Friday before the crime was committed Mme. Dauvray and

Celia dined at the Villa des Fleurs. While they were drinking

their coffee Harry Wethermill joined them. He stayed with them

until Mme. Dauvray was ready to move, and then all three walked

into the baccarat rooms together. But there, in the throng of

people, they were separated.

Harry Wethermill was looking carefully after Celia, as a good

lover should. He had, it seemed, no eyes for any one else; and it

was not until a minute or two had passed that the girl herself

noticed that Mme. Dauvray was not with them.

"We will find her easily," said Harry.

"Of course," replied Celia.

"There is, after all, no hurry," said Wethermill, with a laugh;

"and perhaps she was not unwilling to leave us together."

Celia dimpled to a smile.

"Mme. Dauvray is kind to me," she said, with a very pretty

timidity.

"And yet more kind to me," said Wethermill in a low voice which

brought the blood into Celia's cheeks.

But even while he spoke he soon caught sight of Mme. Dauvray

standing by one of the tables; and near to her was Adele Tace.

Adele had not yet made Mme. Dauvray's acquaintance; that was

evident. She was apparently unaware of her; but she was gradually

edging towards her. Wethermill smiled, and Celia caught the smile.

"What is it?" she asked, and her head began to turn in the

direction of Mme. Dauvray.

"Why, I like your frock--that's all," said Wethermill at once; and

Celia's eyes went down to it.

"Do you?" she said, with a pleased smile. It was a dress of dark

blue which suited her well. "I am glad. I think it is pretty." And

they passed on.

Wethermill stayed by the girl's side throughout the evening. Once

again he saw Mme. Dauvray and Adele Tace. But now they were

together; now they were talking. The first step had been taken.

Adele Tace had scraped acquaintance with Mme. Dauvray. Celia saw

them almost at the same moment.

"Oh, there is Mme. Dauvray," she cried, taking a step towards her.

Wethermill detained the girl.

"She seems quite happy," he said; and, indeed, Mme. Dauvray was

talking volubly and with the utmost interest, the jewels sparkling

about her neck. She raised her head, saw Celia, nodded to her

affectionately, and then pointed her out to her companion. Adele

Tace looked the girl over with interest and smiled contentedly.

There was nothing to be feared from her. Her youth, her very

daintiness, seemed to offer her as the easiest of victims.

"You see Mme. Dauvray does not want you," said Harry Wethermill.

"Let us go and play chemin-de-fer"; and they did, moving off into

one of the further rooms.

It was not until another hour had passed that Celia rose and went

in search of Mme. Dauvray. She found her still talking earnestly

to Adele Tace. Mme. Dauvray got up at once.