At The Villa Rose

"Was any one inside the car?" asked Hanaud.

"No, monsieur; it was empty."

"But you saw the driver!" exclaimed Wethermill.

"Yes; what was he like?" cried the Commissaire.

Perrichet shook his head mournfully.

"He wore a talc mask over the upper part of his face, and had a

little black moustache, and was dressed in a heavy great-coat of

blue with a white collar."

"That is my coat, monsieur," said Servettaz, and as he spoke he

lifted it up from the chauffeur's seat. "It is Mme. Dauvray's

livery."

Harry Wethermill groaned aloud.

"We have lost him. He was within our grasp--he, the murderer!--and

he was allowed to go!"

Perrichet's grief was pitiable.

"Monsieur," he pleaded, "a car slackens its speed and goes on

again--it is not so unusual a thing. I did not know the number of

Mme. Dauvray's car. I did not even know that it had disappeared";

and suddenly tears of mortification filled his eyes. "But why do I

make these excuses?" he cried. "It is better, M. Hanaud, that I go

back to my uniform and stand at the street corner. I am as foolish

as I look."

"Nonsense, my friend," said Hanaud, clapping the disconsolate man

upon the shoulder. "You remembered the car and its number. That is

something--and perhaps a great deal," he added gravely. "As for

the talc mask and the black moustache, that is not much to help

us, it is true." He looked at Ricardo's crestfallen face and

smiled. "We might arrest our good friend M. Ricardo upon that

evidence, but no one else that I know."

Hanaud laughed immoderately at his joke. He alone seemed to feel

no disappointment at Perrichet's oversight. Ricardo was a little

touchy on the subject of his personal appearance, and bridled

visibly. Hanaud turned towards Servettaz.

"Now," he said, "you know how much petrol was taken from the

garage?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Can you tell me, by the amount which has been used, how far that

car was driven last night?" Hanaud asked.

Servettaz examined the tank.

"A long way, monsieur. From a hundred and thirty to a hundred and

fifty kilometers, I should say."

"Yes, just about that distance, I should say," cried Hanaud.

His eyes brightened, and a smile, a rather fierce smile, came to

his lips. He opened the door, and examined with a minute scrutiny

the floor of the carriage, and as he looked, the smile faded from

his face. Perplexity returned to it. He took the cushions, looked

them over and shook them out.

"I see no sign--" he began, and then he uttered a little shrill

cry of satisfaction. From the crack of the door by the hinge he

picked off a tiny piece of pale green stuff, which he spread out

upon the back of his hand.