At The Villa Rose

Mr. Ricardo nodded his head.

"I know now," he said. "You told me. The earrings of Mlle. Celie.

But I should not have guessed it at the time."

"Nor could I--at the time," said Hanaud. "I kept my open mind

about Helene Vauquier; but I locked the door and took the key.

Then we went and heard Vauquier's story. The story was clever,

because so much of it was obviously, indisputably true. The

account of the seances, of Mme. Dauvray's superstitions, her

desire for an interview with Mme. de Montespan--such details are

not invented. It was interesting, too, to know that there had been

a seance planned for that night! The method of the murder began to

be clear. So far she spoke the truth. But then she lied. Yes, she

lied, and it was a bad lie, my friend. She told us that the

strange woman Adele had black hair. Now I carried in my pocket-

book proof that that woman's hair was red. Why did she lie, except

to make impossible the identification of that strange visitor?

That was the first false step taken by Helene Vauquier.

"Now let us take the second. I thought nothing of her rancour

against Mlle. Celie. To me it was all very natural. She--the hard

peasant woman no longer young, who had been for years the

confidential servant of Mme. Dauvray, and no doubt had taken her

levy from the impostors who preyed upon her credulous mistress--

certainly she would hate this young and pretty outcast whom she

has to wait upon, whose hair she has to dress. Vauquier--she would

hate her. But if by any chance she were in the plot--and the lie

seemed to show she was--then the seances showed me new

possibilities. For Helene used to help Mlle. Celie. Suppose that

the seance had taken place, that this sceptical visitor with the

red hair professed herself dissatisfied with Vauquier's method of

testing the medium, had suggested another way, Mlle. Celie could

not object, and there she would be neatly and securely packed up

beyond the power of offering any resistance, before she could have

a suspicion that things were wrong. It would be an easy little

comedy to play. And if that were true--why, there were my sofa

cushions partly explained."

"Yes, I see!" cried Ricardo, with enthusiasm. "You are wonderful."

Hanaud was not displeased with his companion's enthusiasm.

"But wait a moment. We have only conjectures so far, and one fact

that Helene Vauquier lied about the colour of the strange woman's

hair. Now we get another fact. Mlle. Celie was wearing buckles on

her shoes. And there is my slit in the sofa cushions. For when she

is flung on to the sofa, what will she do? She will kick, she will

struggle. Of course it is conjecture. I do not as yet hold

pigheadedly to it. I am not yet sure that Mlle. Celie is innocent.

I am willing at any moment to admit that the facts contradict my

theory. But, on the contrary, each fact that I discover helps it

to take shape.