horse-power," said Servettaz.
Hanaud turned to the Commissaire.
"You have the number and description, I suppose? It will be as well to advertise for it. It may have been seen; it must be somewhere."
The Commissaire replied that the description had already been printed, and Hanaud, with a nod of approval, examined the ground. In front of the garage, there was a small stone courtyard, but on its surface, there was no trace of a footstep.
"Yet the gravel was wet," he said, shaking his head. "The man who fetched that car fetched it carefully."
He turned and walked back with his eyes upon the ground. Then he ran to the grass border between the gravel and the bushes.
"Look!" he said to Wethermill; "a foot has pressed the blades of grass down here, but very lightly—yes, and there again. Someone ran along the border here on his toes. Yes, he was very careful."
They turned again into the main drive, and, following it for a few yards, came suddenly upon a space in front of the villa. It was a small toy pleasure-house, looking onto a green lawn gay with flower-beds. It was built of yellow stone and was almost square in shape. A couple of ornate pillars flanked the door, and a gable roof, topped by a gilt vane, surmounted it. To Ricardo, it seemed impossible that so sordid and sinister a tragedy had taken place within its walls during the last twelve hours. It glistened so gaudily in the blaze of sunlight. Here and there the green outer shutters were closed; here and there the windows stood open to let in the air and light. Upon each side of the door, there was a window lighting the hall, which was large; beyond those windows again, on each side, there were glass doors opening to the ground and protected by the ordinary green latticed shutters of wood, which now stood hooked back against the wall. These glass doors opened into rooms oblong in shape, which ran through towards the back of the house and were lighted in addition by side windows. The room upon the extreme left, as the party faced the villa, was the dining-room, with the kitchen at the back; the room on the right was the salon in which the murder had been committed. In front of the glass door to this room, a strip of what had once been grass stretched to the gravel drive. But the grass had been worn away by constant use, and the black mold showed through. This strip was about three yards wide, and as they approached, they saw, even at a distance, that since the rain of last night it had been trampled down.
"We will go round the house first," said Hanaud, and he turned along the side of the villa and walked in the direction of the road. There were four windows just above his head, of which three lighted the salon, and the fourth a small writing-room behind it. Under these windows, there was no 

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