CHAPTER VI
HELENE VAUQUIER'S EVIDENCE
A nurse opened the door. Within the room Helene Vauquier was leaningback in a chair. She looked ill, and her face was very white. On theappearance of Hanaud, the Commissaire, and the others, however, sherose to her feet. Ricardo recognised the justice of Hanaud'sdescription. She stood before them a hard-featured, tall woman ofthirty-five or forty, in a neat black stuff dress, strong with thestrength of a peasant, respectable, reliable. She looked what she hadbeen, the confidential maid of an elderly woman. On her face there wasnow an aspect of eager appeal.
"Oh, monsieur!" she began, "let me go from here--anywhere--into prisonif you like. But to stay here--where in years past we were sohappy--and with madame lying in the room below. No, it isinsupportable."
She sank into her chair, and Hanaud came over to her side.
"Yes, yes," he said, in a soothing voice. "I can understand yourfeelings, my poor woman. We will not keep you here. You have, perhaps,friends in Aix with whom you could stay?"
"Oh yes, monsieur!" Helene cried gratefully. "Oh, but I thank you! ThatI should have to sleep here to-night! Oh, how the fear of that hasfrightened me!"
"You need have had no such fear. After all, we are not the visitors oflast night," said Hanaud, drawing a chair close to her and patting herhand sympathetically. "Now, I want you to tell these gentlemen andmyself all that you know of this dreadful business. Take your time,mademoiselle! We are human."
"But, monsieur, I know nothing," she cried. "I was told that I might goto bed as soon as I had dressed Mlle. Celie for the seance."
"Seance!" cried Ricardo, startled into speech. The picture of theAssembly Hall at Leamington was again before his mind. But Hanaudturned towards him, and, though Hanaud's face retained its benevolentexpression, there was a glitter in his eyes which sent the blood intoRicardo's face.
"Did you speak again, M. Ricardo?" the detective asked. "No? I thoughtit was not possible." He turned back to Helene Vauquier. "So Mlle.Celie practised seances. That is very strange. We will hear about them.Who knows what thread may lead us to the truth?"
Helene Vauquier shook her head.
"Monsieur, it is not right that you should seek the truth from me. For,consider this! I cannot speak with justice of Mlle. Celie. No, Icannot! I did not like her. I was jealous--yes, jealous. Monsieur, youwant the truth--I hated her!" And the woman's face flushed and sheclenched her hand upon the arm of her chair. "Yes, I hated her. Howcould I help it?" she asked.
"Why?" asked Hanaud gently. "Why could you not help it?"
Helene Vauquier leaned back again, her strength exhausted, and smiledlanguidly.
"I will tell you. But remember it is a woman speaking to you, andthings which you will count silly and trivial mean very much to her.There was one night last June--only last June! To think of it! Solittle while ago there was no Mlle. Celie--" and, as Hanaud raised hishand, she said hurriedly, "Yes, yes; I will control myself. But tothink of Mme. Dauvray now!"
And thereupon she blurted out her story and explained to Mr. Ricardothe question which had so perplexed him: how a girl of so muchdistinction as Celia Harland came to be living with a woman of socommon a type as Mme. Dauvray.
"Well, one night in June," said Helene Vauquier, "madame went with aparty to supper at the Abbaye Restaurant in Montmartre. And she broughthome for the first time Mlle. Celie. But you should have seen her! Shehad on a little plaid skirt and a coat which was falling to pieces, andshe was starving--yes, starving. Madame told me the story that night asI undressed her. Mlle. Celie was there dancing amidst the tables for asupper with any one who would be kind enough to dance with her."
The scorn of her voice rang through the room. She was the rigid,respectable peasant woman, speaking out her contempt. And Wethermillmust needs listen to it. Ricardo dared not glance at him.
"But hardly any one would dance with her in her rags, and no one wouldgive her supper except madame. Madame did. Madame listened to her storyof hunger and distress. Madame believed it, and brought her home.Madame was so kind, so careless in her kindness. And now she liesmurdered for a reward!" An hysterical sob checked the woman'sutterances, her face began to work, her hands to twitch.
"Come, come!" said Hanaud gently, "calm yourself, mademoiselle."
Helene Vauquier paused for a moment or two to recover her composure. "Ibeg your pardon, monsieur, but I have been so long with madame--oh, thepoor woman! Yes, yes, I will calm myself. Well, madame brought herhome, and in a week there was nothing too good for Mlle. Celie. Madamewas like a child. Always she was being deceived and imposed upon. Nevershe learnt prudence. But no one so quickly made her way to madame'sheart as Mlle. Celie. Mademoiselle must live with her. Mademoisellemust be dressed by the first modistes. Mademoiselle must have lacepetticoats and the softest linen, long white gloves, and pretty ribbonsfor her hair, and hats from Caroline Reboux at twelve hundred francs.And madame's maid must attend upon her and deck her out in all thesedainty things. Bah!"
Vauquier was sitting erect in her chair, violent, almost rancorous withanger. She looked round upon the company and shrugged her shoulders.
"I told you not to come to me!" she said, "I cannot speak impartially,or even gently of mademoiselle. Consider! For years I had been morethan madame's maid--her friend; yes, so she was kind enough to call me.She talked to me about everything, consulted me about everything, tookme with her everywhere. Then she brings home, at two o'clock in themorning, a young girl with a fresh, pretty face, from a Montmartrerestaurant, and in a week I am nothing at all--oh, but nothing--andmademoiselle is queen."
"Yes, it is quite natural," said Hanaud sympathetically. "You would nothave been human, mademoiselle, if you had not felt some anger. But tellus frankly about these seances. How did they begin?"
"Oh, monsieur," Vauquier answered, "it was not difficult to begin them.Mme. Dauvray had a passion for fortune-tellers and rogues of that kind.Any one with a pack of cards and some nonsense about a dangerous womanwith black hair or a man with a limp--Monsieur knows the stories theystring together in dimly lighted rooms to deceive the credulous--anyone could make a harvest out of madame's superstitions. But monsieurknows the type."
"Indeed I do," said Hanaud, with a laugh.
"Well, after mademoiselle had been with us three weeks, she said to meone morning when I was dressing her hair that it was a pity madame wasalways running round the fortune-tellers, that she herself could dosomething much more striking and impressive, and that if only I wouldhelp her we could rescue madame from their clutches. Sir, I did notthink what power I was putting into Mlle. Celie's hands, or assuredly Iwould have refused. And I did not wish to quarrel with Mlle. Celie; sofor once I consented, and, having once consented, I could neverafterwards refuse, for, if I had, mademoiselle would have made somefine excuse about the psychic influence not being en rapport, andmeanwhile would have had me sent away. While if I had confessed thetruth to madame, she would have been so angry that I had been a partyto tricking her that again I would have lost my place. And so theseances went on."
"Yes," said Hanaud. "I understand that your position was verydifficult. We shall not, I think," and he turned to the Commissaireconfidently for corroboration of his words, "be disposed to blame you."
"Certainly not," said the Commissaire. "After all, life is not so easy."
"Thus, then, the seances began," said Hanaud, leaning forward with akeen interest. "This is a strange and curious story you are telling me,Mlle. Vauquier. Now, how were they conducted? How did you assist? Whatdid Mlle. Celie do? Rap on the tables in the dark and rattletambourines like that one with the knot of ribbons which hangs upon thewall of the salon?"
There was a gentle and inviting irony in Hanaud's tone. M. Ricardo wasdisappointed. Hanaud had after all not overlooked the tambourine.Without Ricardo's reason to notice it, he had none the less observed itand borne it in his memory.
"Well?" he asked.
"Oh, monsieur, the tambourines and the rapping on the tab
le!" criedHelene. "That was nothing--oh, but nothing at all. Mademoiselle Celiewould make spirits appear and speak!"
"Really! And she was never caught out! But Mlle. Celie must have been aremarkably clever girl."
"Oh, she was of an address which was surprising. Sometimes madame and Iwere alone. Sometimes there were others, whom madame in her pride hadinvited. For she was very proud, monsieur, that her companion couldintroduce her to the spirits of dead people. But never was Mlle. Celiecaught out. She told me that for many years, even when quite a child,she had travelled through England giving these exhibitions."
"Oho!" said Hanaud, and he turned to Wethermill. "Did you know that?"he asked in English.
"I did not," he said. "I do not now."
Hanaud shook his head.
"To me this story does not seem invented," he replied. And then hespoke again in French to Helene Vauquier. "Well, continue,mademoiselle! Assume that the company is assembled for our seance."
"Then Mlle. Celie, dressed in a long gown of black velvet, which setoff her white arms and shoulders well--oh, mademoiselle did not forgetthose little trifles," Helene Vauquier interrupted her story, with areturn of her bitterness, to interpolate--"mademoiselle would sail intothe room with her velvet train flowing behind her, and perhaps for alittle while she would say there was a force working against her, andshe would sit silent in a chair while madame gaped at her with openeyes. At last mademoiselle would say that the powers were favourableand the spirits would manifest themselves to-night. Then she would beplaced in a cabinet, perhaps with a string tied across the dooroutside--you will understand it was my business to see after thestring--and the lights would be turned down, or perhaps out altogether.Or at other times we would sit holding hands round a table, Mlle. Celiebetween Mme. Dauvray and myself. But in that case the lights would beturned out first, and it would be really my hand which held Mme.Dauvray's. And whether it was the cabinet or the chairs, in a momentmademoiselle would be creeping silently about the room in a little pairof soft-soled slippers without heels, which she wore so that she mightnot be heard, and tambourines would rattle as you say, and fingerstouch the forehead and the neck, and strange voices would sound fromcorners of the room, and dim apparitions would appear--the spirits ofgreat ladies of the past, who would talk with Mme. Dauvray. Such ladiesas Mme. de Castiglione, Marie Antoinette, Mme. de Medici--I do notremember all the names, and very likely I do not pronounce themproperly. Then the voices would cease and the lights be turned up, andMlle. Celie would be found in a trance just in the same place andattitude as she had been when the lights were turned out. Imagine,messieurs, the effect of such seances upon a woman like Mme. Dauvray.She was made for them. She believed in them implicitly. The words ofthe great ladies from the past--she would remember and repeat them, andbe very proud that such great ladies had come back to the world merelyto tell her--Mme. Dauvray--about their lives. She would have hadseances all day, but Mlle. Celie pleaded that she was left exhausted atthe end of them. But Mlle. Celie was of an address! For instance--itwill seem very absurd and ridiculous to you, gentlemen, but you mustremember what Mme. Dauvray was--for instance, madame was particularlyanxious to speak with the spirit of Mme. de Montespan. Yes, yes! Shehad read all the memoirs about that lady. Very likely Mlle. Celie hadput the notion into Mme. Dauvray's head, for madame was not a scholar.But she was dying to hear that famous woman's voice and to catch a dimglimpse of her face. Well, she was never gratified. Always she hoped.Always Mlle. Celie tantalised her with the hope. But she would notgratify it. She would not spoil her fine affairs by making these treatstoo common. And she acquired--how should she not?--a power over Mme.Dauvray which was unassailable. The fortune-tellers had no more to sayto Mme. Dauvray. She did nothing but felicitate herself upon the happychance which had sent her Mlle. Celie. And now she lies in her roommurdered!"
Once more Helene's voice broke upon the words. But Hanaud poured herout a glass of water and held it to her lips. Helene drank it eagerly.
"There, that is better, is it not?" he said.
"Yes, monsieur," said Helene Vauquier, recovering herself. "Sometimes,too," she resumed, "messages from the spirits would flutter down inwriting on the table."
"In writing?" exclaimed Hanaud quickly.
"Yes; answers to questions. Mlle. Celie had them ready. Oh, but she wasof an address altogether surprising.
"I see," said Hanaud slowly; and he added, "But sometimes, I suppose,the questions were questions which Mlle. Celie could not answer?"
"Sometimes," Helene Vauquier admitted, "when visitors were present.When Mme. Dauvray was alone--well, she was an ignorant woman, and anyanswer would serve. But it was not so when there were visitors whomMlle. Celie did not know, or only knew slightly. These visitors mightbe putting questions to test her, of which they knew the answers, whileMlle. Celie did not."
"Exactly," said Hanaud. "What happened then?"
All who were listening understood to what point he was leading HeleneVauquier. All waited intently for her answer.
She smiled.
"It was all one to Mlle. Celie."
"She was prepared with an escape from the difficulty?"
"Perfectly prepared."
Hanaud looked puzzled.
"I can think of no way out of it except the one," and he looked roundto the Commissaire and to Ricardo as though he would inquire of themhow many ways they had discovered. "I can think of no escape exceptthat a message in writing should flutter down from the spirit appealedto saying frankly," and Hanaud shrugged his shoulders, "'I do notknow.'"
"Oh no no, monsieur," replied Helene Vauquier in pity for Hanaud'smisconception, "I see that you are not in the habit of attendingseances. It would never do for a spirit to admit that it did not know.At once its authority would be gone, and with it Mlle. Celie's as well.But on the other hand, for inscrutable reasons the spirit might not beallowed to answer."
"I understand," said Hanaud, meekly accepting the correction. "Thespirit might reply that it was forbidden to answer, but never that itdid not know."
"No, never that," said Helene. So it seemed that Hanaud must lookelsewhere for the explanation of that sentence. "I do not know," Helenecontinued: "Oh, Mlle. Celie--it was not easy to baffle her, I can tellyou. She carried a lace scarf which she could drape about her head, andin a moment she would be, in the dim light, an old, old woman, with avoice so altered that no one could know it. Indeed, you said rightly,monsieur--she was clever."
To all who listened Helene Vauquier's story carried its conviction.Mme. Dauvray rose vividly before their minds as a living woman. Celie'strickeries were so glibly described that they could hardly have beeninvented, and certainly not by this poor peasant-woman whose lips sobravely struggled with Medici, and Montespan, and the names of theother great ladies. How, indeed, should she know of them at all? Shecould never have had the inspiration to concoct the most convincingitem of her story--the queer craze of Mme. Dauvray for an interviewwith Mme. de Montespan. These details were assuredly the truth.
Ricardo, indeed, knew them to be true. Had he not himself seen the girlin her black velvet dress shut up in a cabinet, and a great lady of thepast dimly appear in the darkness? Moreover, Helene Vauquier's jealousywas so natural and inevitable a thing. Her confession of itcorroborated all her story.
"Well, then," said Hanaud, "we come to last night. There was a seanceheld in the salon last night."
"No, monsieur," said Vauquier, shaking her head; "there was no seancelast night."
"But already you have said--" interrupted the Commissaire; and Hanaudheld up his hand.
"Let her speak, my friend."
"Yes, monsieur shall hear," said Vauquier.
It appeared that at five o'clock in the afternoon Mme. Dauvray andMlle. Celie prepared to leave the house on foot. It was their custom towalk down at this hour to the Villa des Fleurs, pass an hour or sothere, dine in a restaurant, and return to the Rooms to spend theevening. On this occasion, however, Mme. Dauvray informed Helene thatthey shou
ld be back early and bring with them a friend who wasinterested in, but entirely sceptical of, spiritualisticmanifestations. "But we shall convince her to-night, Celie," she saidconfidently; and the two women then went out. Shortly before eightHelene closed the shutters both of the upstair and the downstairwindows and of the glass doors into the garden, and returned to thekitchen, which was at the back of the house--that is, on the sidefacing the road. There had been a fall of rain at seven which hadlasted for the greater part of the hour, and soon after she had shutthe windows the rain fell again in a heavy shower, and Helene, knowingthat madame felt the chill, lighted a small fire in the salon. Theshower lasted until nearly nine, when it ceased altogether and thenight cleared up.
It was close upon half-past nine when the bell rang from the salon.Vauquier was sure of the hour, for the charwoman called her attentionto the clock.
"I found Mme. Dauvray, Mlle. Celie, and another woman in the salon,"continued Helene Vauquier.
"Madame had let them in with her latchkey."
"Ah, the other woman!" cried Besnard. "Had you seen her before?"
"No, monsieur."
"What was she like?"
"She was sallow, with black hair and bright eyes like beads. She wasshort and about forty-five years old, though it is difficult to judgeof these things. I noticed her hands, for she was taking her glovesoff, and they seemed to me to be unusually muscular for a woman."
"Ah!" cried Louis Besnard. "That is important."
"Mme. Dauvray was, as she always was before a seance, in a feverishflutter. 'You will help Mlle. Celie to dress, Helene, and be veryquick,' she said; and with an extraordinary longing she added, 'Perhapswe shall see her to-night.' Her, you understand, was Mme. de Montespan."And she turned to the stranger and said, "You will believe, Adele,after to-night."
"Adele!" said the Commissaire wisely. "Then Adele was the strangewoman's name?"
"Perhaps," said Hanaud dryly.
Helene Vauquier reflected.
"I think Adele was the name," she said in a more doubtful tone. "Itsounded like Adele."
The irrepressible Mr. Ricardo was impelled to intervene.
"What Monsieur Hanaud means," he explained, with the pleasant air of aman happy to illuminate the dark intelligence of a child, "is thatAdele was probably a pseudonym."
Hanaud turned to him with a savage grin.
"Now that is sure to help her!" he cried. "A pseudonym! Helene Vauquieris sure to understand that simple and elementary word. How bright thisM. Ricardo is! Where shall we find a new pin more bright? I ask you,"and he spread out his hands in a despairing admiration.
Mr. Ricardo flushed red, but he answered never a word. He must enduregibes and humiliations like a schoolboy in a class. His one constantfear was lest he should be turned out of the room. The Commissairediverted wrath from him however.
"What he means by pseudonym," he said to Helene Vauquier, explainingMr. Ricardo to her as Mr. Ricardo had presumed to explain Hanaud, "is afalse name. Adele may have been, nay, probably was, a false nameadopted by this strange woman."
"Adele, I think, was the name used," replied Helene, the doubt in hervoice diminishing as she searched her memory. "I am almost sure."
"Well, we will call her Adele," said Hanaud impatiently. "What does itmatter? Go on, Mademoiselle Vauquier."
"The lady sat upright and squarely upon the edge of a chair, with asort of defiance, as though she was determined nothing should convinceher, and she laughed incredulously."
Here, again, all who heard were able vividly to conjure up thescene--the defiant sceptic sitting squarely on the edge of her chair,removing her gloves from her muscular hands; the excited Mme. Dauvray,so absorbed in the determination to convince; and Mlle. Celie runningfrom the room to put on the black gown which would not be visible inthe dim light.
"Whilst I took off mademoiselle's dress," Vauquier continued, "shesaid: 'When I have gone down to the salon you can go to bed, Helene.Mme. Adele'--yes, it was Adele--'will be fetched by a friend in amotorcar, and I can let her out and fasten the door again. So if youhear the car you will know that it has come for her.'"
"Oh, she said that!" said Hanaud quickly.
"Yes, monsieur."
Hanaud looked gloomily towards Wethermill. Then he exchanged a sharpglance with the Commissaire, and moved his shoulders in an almostimperceptible shrug. But Mr. Ricardo saw it, and construed it into oneword. He imagined a jury uttering the word "Guilty."
Helene Vauquier saw the movement too.
"Do not condemn her too quickly, monsieur," she, said, with an impulseof remorse. "And not upon my words. For, as I say, I--hated her."
Hanaud nodded reassuringly, and she resumed:
"I was surprised, and I asked mademoiselle what she would do withouther confederate. But she laughed, and said there would be nodifficulty. That is partly why I think there was no seance held lastnight. Monsieur, there was a note in her voice that evening which I didnot as yet understand. Mademoiselle then took her bath while I laid outher black dress and the slippers with the soft, noiseless soles. Andnow I tell you why I am sure there was no seance last night--why Mlle.Celie never meant there should be one."
"Yes, let us hear that," said Hanaud curiously, and leaning forwardwith his hands upon his knees.
"You have here, monsieur, a description of how mademoiselle was dressedwhen she went away." Helene Vauquier picked up a sheet of paper fromthe table at her side. "I wrote it out at the request of M. leCommissaire." She handed the paper to Hanaud, who glanced through it asshe continued. "Well, except for the white lace coat, monsieur, Idressed Mlle. Celie just in that way. She would have none of her plainblack robe. No, Mlle. Celie must wear her fine new evening frock ofpale reseda-green chiffon over soft clinging satin, which set off herfair beauty so prettily. It left her white arms and shoulders bare, andit had a long train, and it rustled as she moved. And with that shemust put on her pale green silk stockings, her new little satinslippers to match, with the large paste buckles--and a sash of greensatin looped through another glittering buckle at the side of thewaist, with long ends loosely knotted together at the knee. I must tieher fair hair with a silver ribbon, and pin upon her curls a large hatof reseda green with a golden-brown ostrich feather drooping behind. Iwarned mademoiselle that there was a tiny fire burning in the salon.Even with the fire-screen in front of it there would still be a littlelight upon the floor, and the glittering buckles on her feet wouldbetray her, even if the rustle of her dress did not. But she said shewould kick her slippers off. Ah, gentlemen, it is, after all, not sothat one dresses for a seance," she cried, shaking her head. "But it isjust so--is it not?--that one dresses to go to meet a lover."
The suggestion startled every one who heard it. It fairly took Mr.Ricardo's breath away. Wethermill stepped forward with a cry of revolt.The Commissaire exclaimed, admiringly, "But here is an idea!" EvenHanaud sat back in his chair, though his expression lost nothing of itsimpassivity, and his eyes never moved from Helene Vauquier's face.
"Listen!" she continued, "I will tell you what I think. It was my habitto put out some sirop and lemonade and some little cakes in thedining-room, which, as you know, is at the other side of the houseacross the hall. I think it possible, messieurs, that while Mlle. Celiewas changing her dress Mme. Dauvray and the stranger, Adele, went intothe dining-room. I know that Mlle. Celie, as soon as she was dressed,ran downstairs to the salon. Well, then, suppose Mlle. Celie had alover waiting with whom she meant to run away. She hurries through theempty salon, opens the glass doors, and is gone, leaving the doorsopen. And the thief, an accomplice of Adele, finds the doors open andhides himself in the salon until Mme. Dauvray returns from thedining-room. You see, that leaves Mlle. Celie innocent."
Vauquier leaned forward eagerly, her white face flushing. There was amoment's silence, and then Hanaud said:
"That is all very well, Mlle. Vauquier. But it does not account for thelace coat in which the girl went away. She must have returned to herroom to fetch tha
t after you had gone to bed."
Helene Vauquier leaned back with an air of disappointment.
"That is true. I had forgotten the coat. I did not like Mlle. Celie,but I am not wicked--"
"Nor for the fact that the sirop and the lemonade had not been touchedin the dining-room," said the Commissaire, interrupting her.
Again the disappointment overspread Vauquier's face.
"Is that so?" she asked. "I did not know--I have been kept a prisonerhere."
The Commissaire cut her short with a cry of satisfaction.
"Listen! listen!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Here is a theory whichaccounts for all, which combines Vauquier's idea with ours, andVauquier's idea is, I think, very just, up to a point. Suppose, M.Hanaud, that the girl was going to meet her lover, but the lover is themurderer. Then all becomes clear. She does not run away to him; sheopens the door for him and lets him in."
Both Hanaud and Ricardo stole a glance at Wethermill. How did he takethe theory? Wethermill was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed,his face white and contorted with a spasm of pain. But he had the airof a man silently enduring an outrage rather than struck down by theconviction that the woman he loved was worthless.
"It is not for me to say, monsieur," Helene Vauquier continued. "I onlytell you what I know. I am a woman, and it would be very difficult fora girl who was eagerly expecting her lover so to act that another womanwould not know it. However uncultivated and ignorant the other womanwas, that at all events she would know. The knowledge would spread toher of itself, without a word. Consider, gentlemen!" And suddenlyHelene Vauquier smiled. "A young girl tingling with excitement fromhead to foot, eager that her beauty just at this moment should be morefresh, more sweet than ever it was, careful that her dress should setit exquisitely off. Imagine it! Her lips ready for the kiss! Oh, howshould another woman not know? I saw Mlle. Celie, her cheeks rosy, hereyes bright. Never had she looked so lovely. The pale-green hat uponher fair head heavy with its curls! From head to foot she lookedherself over, and then she sighed--she sighed with pleasure because shelooked so pretty. That was Mlle. Celie last night, monsieur. Shegathered up her train, took her long white gloves in the other hand,and ran down the stairs, her heels clicking on the wood, her bucklesglittering. At the bottom she turned and said to me:
"'Remember, Helene, you can go to bed.' That was it monsieur."
And now violently the rancour of Helene Vauquier's feelings burst outonce more.
"For her the fine clothes, the pleasure, and the happiness. For me--Icould go to bed!"
Hanaud looked again at the description which Helene Vauquier hadwritten out, and read it through carefully. Then he asked a question,of which Ricardo did not quite see the drift.
"So," he said, "when this morning you suggested to Monsieur theCommissaire that it would be advisable for you to go through Mlle.Celie's wardrobe, you found that nothing more had been taken awayexcept the white lace coat?"
"That is so."
"Very well. Now, after Mlle. Celie had gone down the stairs--"
"I put the lights out in her room and, as she had ordered me to do, Iwent to bed. The next thing that I remember--but no! It terrifies metoo much to think of it."
Helene shuddered and covered her face spasmodically with her hands.Hanaud drew her hands gently down.
"Courage! You are safe now, mademoiselle. Calm yourself!"
She lay back with her eyes closed.
"Yes, yes; it is true. I am safe now. But oh! I feel I shall never dareto sleep again!" And the tears swam in her eyes. "I woke up with afeeling of being suffocated. Mon Dieu! There was the light burning inthe room, and a woman, the strange woman with the strong hands, washolding me down by the shoulders, while a man with his cap drawn overhis eyes and a little black moustache pressed over my lips a pad fromwhich a horribly sweet and sickly taste filled my mouth. Oh, I wasterrified! I could not scream. I struggled. The woman told me roughlyto keep quiet. But I could not. I must struggle. And then with abrutality unheard of she dragged me up on to my knees while the mankept the pad right over my mouth. The man, with the arm which was free,held me close to him, and she bound my hands with a cord behind me.Look!"
She held out her wrists. They were terribly bruised. Red and angrylines showed where the cord had cut deeply into her flesh.
"Then they flung me down again upon my back, and the next thing Iremember is the doctor standing over me and this kind nurse supportingme."
She sank back exhausted in her chair and wiped her forehead with herhandkerchief. The sweat stood upon it in beads.
"Thank you, mademoiselle," said Hanaud gravely. "This has been a tryingordeal for you. I understand that. But we are coming to the end. I wantyou to read this description of Mlle. Celie through again to make surethat nothing is omitted." He gave the paper into the maid's hands. "Itwill be advertised, so it is important that it should be complete. Seethat you have left out nothing."
Helene Vauquier bent her head over the paper.
"No," said Helene at last. "I do not think I have omitted anything."And she handed the paper back.
"I asked you," Hanaud continued suavely, "because I understand thatMlle. Celie usually wore a pair of diamond ear-drops, and they are notmentioned here."
A faint colour came into the maid's face.
"That is true, monsieur. I had forgotten. It is quite true."
"Any one might forget," said Hanaud, with a reassuring smile. "But youwill remember now. Think! think! Did Mlle. Celie wear them last night?"He leaned forward, waiting for her reply. Wethermill too, made amovement. Both men evidently thought the point of great importance. Themaid looked at Hanaud for a few moments without speaking.
"It is not from me, mademoiselle, that you will get the answer," saidHanaud quietly.
"No, monsieur. I was thinking," said the maid, her face flushing at therebuke.
"Did she wear them when she went down the stairs last night?" heinsisted.
"I think she wore them," she said doubtfully. "Ye-es--yes," and thewords came now firm and clear. "I remember well. Mlle. Celie had takenthem off before her bath, and they lay on the dressing-table. She putthem into her ears while I dressed her hair and arranged the bow ofribbon in it."
"Then we will add the earrings to your description," said Hanaud, as herose from his chair with the paper in his hand, "and for the moment weneed not trouble you any more about Mademoiselle Celie." He folded thepaper up, slipped it into his letter-case, and put it away in hispocket. "Let us consider that poor Madame Dauvray! Did she keep muchmoney in the house?"
"No, monsieur; very little. She was well known in Aix and her chequeswere everywhere accepted without question. It was a high pleasure toserve madame, her credit was so good," said Helene Vauquier, raisingher head as though she herself had a share in the pride of that goodcredit.
"No doubt," Hanaud agreed. "There are many fine households where thebanking account is overdrawn, and it cannot be pleasant for theservants."
"They are put to so many shifts to hide it from the servants of theirneighbours," said Helene. "Besides," and she made a little grimace ofcontempt, "a fine household and an overdrawn banking account--it islike a ragged petticoat under a satin dress. That was never the casewith Madame Dauvray."
"So that she was under no necessity to have ready money always in herpocket," said Hanaud. "I understand that. But at times perhaps she wonat the Villa des Fleurs?"
Helene Vauquier shook her head.
"She loved the Villa des Fleurs, but she never played for high sums andoften never played at all. If she won a few louis, she was as delightedwith her gains and as afraid to lose them again at the tables as if shewere of the poorest, and she stopped at once. No, monsieur; twenty orthirty louis--there was never more than that in the house."
"Then it was certainly for her famous collection of jewellery thatMadame Dauvray was murdered?"
"Certainly, monsieur."
"Now, where did she keep her jewellery?"
"In a safe in her
bedroom, monsieur. Every night she took off what shehad been wearing and locked it up with the rest. She was never tootired for that."
"And what did she do with the keys?"
"That I cannot tell you. Certainly she locked her rings and necklacesaway whilst I undressed her. And she laid the keys upon thedressing-table or the mantel-shelf--anywhere. But in the morning thekeys were no longer where she had left them. She had put them secretlyaway."
Hanaud turned to another point.
"I suppose that Mademoiselle Celie knew of the safe and that the jewelswere kept there?"
"Oh yes! Mademoiselle indeed was often in Madame Dauvray's room whenshe was dressing or undressing. She must often have seen madame takethem out and lock them up again. But then, monsieur, so did I."
Hanaud nodded to her with a friendly smile.
"Thank you once more, mademoiselle," he said. "The torture is over. Butof course Monsieur Fleuriot will require your presence."
Helene Vauquier looked anxiously towards him.
"But meanwhile I can go from this villa, monsieur?" she pleaded, with atrembling voice.
"Certainly; you shall go to your friends at once."
"Oh, monsieur, thank you!" she cried, and suddenly she gave way. Thetears began to flow from her eyes. She buried her face in her hands andsobbed. "It is foolish of me, but what would you?" She jerked out thewords between her sobs. "It has been too terrible."
"Yes, yes," said Hanaud soothingly. "The nurse will put a few thingstogether for you in a bag. You will not leave Aix, of course, and Iwill send some one with you to your friends."
The maid started violently.
"Oh, not a sergent-de-ville, monsieur, I beg of you. I should bedisgraced."
"No. It shall be a man in plain clothes, to see that you are nothindered by reporters on the way."
Hanaud turned towards the door. On the dressing-table a cord was lying.He took it up and spoke to the nurse.
"Was this the cord with which Helene Vauquier's hands were tied?"
"Yes, monsieur," she replied.
Hanaud handed it to the Commissaire.
"It will be necessary to keep that," he said.
It was a thin piece of strong whipcord. It was the same kind of cord asthat which had been found tied round Mme. Dauvray's throat. Hanaudopened the door and turned back to the nurse.
"We will send for a cab for Mlle. Vauquier. You will drive with her toher door. I think after that she will need no further help. Pack up afew things and bring them down. Mlle. Vauquier can follow, no doubt,now without assistance." And, with a friendly nod, he left the room.
Ricardo had been wondering, through the examination, in what lightHanaud considered Helene Vauquier. He was sympathetic, but the sympathymight merely have been assumed to deceive. His questions betrayed in noparticular the colour of his mind. Now, however, he made himself clear.He informed the nurse, in the plainest possible way, that she was nolonger to act as jailer. She was to bring Vauquier's things down; butVauquier could follow by herself. Evidently Helene Vauquier was cleared.