At The Villa Rose

"I!" exclaimed Ricardo, with a start.

"Yes. You told me that you walked up to the hotel with Harry

Wethermill on the night of the murder and separated just before

ten. A glance into his rooms which I had--you will remember that

when we had discovered the motor-car I suggested that we should go

to Harry Wethermill's rooms and talk it over--that glance enabled

me to see that he could very easily have got out of his room on to

the verandah below and escaped from the hotel by the garden quite

unseen. For you will remember that whereas your rooms look out to

the front and on to the slope of Mont Revard, Wethermill's look

out over the garden and the town of Aix. In a quarter of an hour

or twenty minutes he could have reached the Villa Rose. He could

have been in the salon before half-past ten, and that is just the

hour which suited me perfectly. And, as he got out unnoticed, so

he could return. So he did return! My friend, there are some

interesting marks upon the window-sill of Wethermill's room and

upon the pillar just beneath it. Take a look, M. Ricardo, when you

return to your hotel. But that was not all. We talked of Geneva in

Mr. Wethermill's room, and of the distance between Geneva and Aix.

Do you remember that?"

"Yes," replied Ricardo.

"Do you remember too that I asked him for a road-book?"

"Yes; to make sure of the distance. I do."

"Ah, but it was not to make sure of the distance that I asked for

the road-book, my friend. I asked in order to find out whether

Harry Wethermill had a road-book at all which gave a plan of the

roads between here and Geneva. And he had. He handed it to me at

once and quite naturally. I hope that I took it calmly, but I was

not at all calm inside. For it was a new road-book, which, by the

way, he bought a week before, and I was asking myself all the

while--now what was I asking myself, M. Ricardo?"

"No," said Ricardo, with a smile. "I am growing wary. I will not

tell you what you were asking yourself, M. Hanaud. For even were I

right you would make out that I was wrong, and leap upon me with

injuries and gibes. No, you shall drink your coffee and tell me of

your own accord."

"Well," said Hanaud, laughing, "I will tell you. I was asking

myself: 'Why does a man who owns no motor-car, who hires no motor-

car, go out into Aix and buy an automobilist's road-map? With what

object?' And I found it an interesting question. M. Harry

Wethermill was not the man to go upon a walking tour, eh? Oh, I

was obtaining evidence. But then came an overwhelming thing--the

murder of Marthe Gobin. We know now how he did it. He walked

beside the cab, put his head in at the window, asked, 'Have you

come in answer to the advertisement?' and stabbed her straight to

the heart through her dress. The dress and the weapon which he

used would save him from being stained with her blood. He was in

your room that morning, when we were at the station. As I told

you, he left his glove behind. He was searching for a telegram in

answer to your advertisement. Or he came to sound you. He had

already received his telegram from Hippolyte. He was like a fox in

a cage, snapping at every one, twisting vainly this way and that

way, risking everything and every one to save his precious neck.

Marthe Gobin was in the way. She is killed. Mlle. Celie is a

danger. So Mile. Celie must be suppressed. And off goes a telegram

to the Geneva paper, handed in by a waiter from the cafe at the

station of Chambery before five o'clock. Wethermill went to

Chambery that afternoon when we went to Geneva. Once we could get

him on the run, once we could so harry and bustle him that he must

take risks--why, we had him. And that afternoon he had to take

them."