At The Villa Rose

Hanaud nodded his head.

"I think so," he answered, with a very gentle look at Celia. "Yes,

I think so."

When Celia was aroused she found that the car had stopped before

the door of an hotel, and that a woman in the dress of a nurse was

standing in the doorway.

"You can trust Marie," said Hanaud. And Celia turned as she stood

upon the ground and gave her hands to the two men.

"Thank you! Thank you both!" she said in a trembling voice. She

looked at Hanaud and nodded her head. "You understand why I thank

you so very much?"

"Yes," said Hanaud. "But, mademoiselle"--and he bent over the car

and spoke to her quietly, holding her hand--"there is ALWAYS a big

Newfoundland dog in the worst of troubles--if only you will look

for him. I tell you so--I, who belong to the Surete in Paris. Do

not lose heart!" And in his mind he added: "God forgive me for the

lie." He shook her hand and let it go; and gathering up her skirt

she went into the hall of the hotel.

Hanaud watched her as she went. She was to him a lonely and

pathetic creature, in spite of the nurse who bore her company.

"You must be a good friend to that young girl, M. Ricardo," he

said. "Let us drive to your hotel."

"Yes," said Ricardo. And as they went the curiosity which all the

way from Geneva had been smouldering within him burst into flame.

"Will you explain to me one thing?" he asked. "When the scream

came from the garden you were not surprised. Indeed, you said that

when you saw the open door and the morphia-needle on the table of

the little room downstairs you thought Adele and the man Hippolyte

were hiding in the garden."

"Yes, I did think so."

"Why? And why did the publication that the jewels had been

discovered so alarm you?"

"Ah!" said Hanaud. "Did not you understand that? Yet it is surely

clear and obvious, if you once grant that the girl was innocent,

was a witness of the crime, and was now in the hands of the

criminals. Grant me those premisses, M. Ricardo, for a moment, and

you will see that we had just one chance of finding the girl alive

in Geneva. From the first I was sure of that. What was the one

chance? Why, this! She might be kept alive on the chance that she

could be forced to tell what, by the way, she did not know,

namely, the place where Mme. Dauvray's valuable jewels were

secreted. Now, follow this. We, the police, find the jewels and

take charge of them. Let that news reach the house in Geneva, and

on the same night Mlle. Celie loses her life, and not--very

pleasantly. They have no further use for her. She is merely a

danger to them. So I take my precautions--never mind for the

moment what they were. I take care that if the murderer is in Aix

and gets wind of our discovery he shall not be able to communicate

his news."