"No, monsieur; I asked only for a day whenever it should be convenient to madame." "Quite so," said Hanaud. "Now, when did Mme. Dauvray tell you that you might have Tuesday?" Servettaz hesitated. His face became troubled. When he spoke, he spoke reluctantly. "It was not Mme. Dauvray, monsieur, who told me that I might go on Tuesday," he said. "Not Mme. Dauvray! Who was it, then?" Hanaud asked sharply. Servettaz glanced from one to another of the grave faces which confronted him. "It was Mlle. Celie," he said, "who told me." "Oh!" said Hanaud, slowly. "It was Mlle. Celie. When did she tell you?" "On Monday morning, monsieur. I was cleaning the car. She came to the garage with some flowers in her hand which she had been cutting in the garden, and she said: 'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart. You can go to-morrow by the train which leaves Aix at 1.52 and arrives at Chambery at nine minutes after two.'"Hanaud started. "'I was right, Alphonse.' Were those her words? And 'Madame has a kind heart.' Come, come, what is all this?" He lifted a warning finger and said gravely, "Be very careful, Servettaz." "Those were her words, monsieur." "'I was right, Alphonse. Madame has a kind heart'?" "Yes, monsieur." "Then Mlle. Celie had spoken to you before about this visit of yours to Chambery," said Hanaud, with his eyes fixed steadily upon the chauffeur's face. The distress upon Servettaz's face increased. Suddenly Hanaud's voice rang sharply. "You hesitate. Begin at the beginning. Speak the truth, Servettaz!" "Monsieur, I am speaking the truth," said the chauffeur. "It is true I hesitate... I have heard this morning what people are saying... I do not know what to think. Mlle. Celie was always kind and thoughtful for me... But it is true"—and with a kind of desperation he went on—"yes, it is true that it was Mlle. Celie who first suggested to me that I should ask for a day to go to Chambery." "When did she suggest it?" "On the Saturday." To Mr. Ricardo the words were startling. He glanced with pity towards Wethermill. Wethermill, however, had made up his mind for good and all. He stood with a dogged look upon his face, his chin thrust forward, his eyes upon the chauffeur. Besnard, the Commissaire, had made up his mind, too. He merely shrugged his shoulders. Hanaud stepped forward and laid his hand gently on the
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