At The Villa Rose

"No!" cried Harry Wethermill.

Hanaud took no notice of the interruption.

"Secondly the woman came to the house with Mme. Dauvray and Mlle.

Celie between nine and half-past nine. Thirdly, the man came

afterwards, but before eleven, set open the gate, and was admitted

into the salon, unperceived by Mme. Dauvray. That also we can

safely assume. But what happened in the salon? Ah! There is the

question." Then he shrugged his shoulders and said with the note

of raillery once more in his voice: "But why should we trouble our heads to puzzle out this mystery,

since M. Ricardo knows?"

"I?" cried Ricardo in amazement.

"To be sure," replied Hanaud calmly. "For I look at another of

your questions. 'WHAT DID THE TORN-UP SCRAP OF WRITING MEAN?' and

you add: 'Probably spirit-writing.' Then there was a seance held

last night in the little salon! Is that so?"

Harry Wethermill started. Mr. Ricardo was at a loss.

"I had not followed my suggestion to its conclusion," he admitted

humbly.

"No," said Hanaud. "But I ask myself in sober earnest, 'Was there

a seance held in the salon last night?' Did the tambourine rattle

in the darkness on the wall?"

"But if Helene Vauquier's story is all untrue?" cried Wethermill,

again in exasperation.

"Patience, my friend. Her story was not all untrue. I say there

were brains behind this crime; yes, but brains, even the

cleverest, would not have invented this queer, strange story of

the seances and of Mme. de Montespan. That is truth. But yet, if

there were a seance held, if the scrap of paper were spirit-

writing in answer to some awkward question, why--and here I come

to my first question, which M. Ricardo has omitted--why did Mlle.

Celie dress herself with so much elegance last night? What

Vauquier said is true. Her dress was not suited to a seance. A

light-coloured, rustling frock, which would be visible in a dim

light, or even in the dark, which would certainly be heard at

every movement she made, however lightly she stepped, and a big

hat--no no! I tell you, gentlemen, we shall not get to the bottom

of this mystery until we know why Mlle. Celie dressed herself as

she did last night." "Yes," Ricardo admitted. "I overlooked that

point." "Did she--" Hanaud broke off and bowed to Wethermill with

a grace and a respect which condoned his words. "You must bear

with me, my young friend, while I consider all these points. Did

she expect to join that night a lover--a man with the brains to

devise this crime? But if so--and here I come to the second

question omitted from M. Ricardo's list--why, on the patch of

grass outside the door of the salon, were the footsteps of the man

and woman so carefully erased, and the footsteps of Mlle. Celie--

those little footsteps so easily identified--left for all the

world to see and recognise?"