wassure--that if that strip vanished I should know the man."
"And it did vanish?"
"Three nights afterwards."
"And you did know the man?"
The girl's face became troubled. She frowned.
"I knew the face, that was all," she answered. "I was disappointed. Ihad never spoken to the man. I am sure of that still. But somewhere Ihave seen him."
"You don't even remember when?" asked Hanaud.
"No." Joan Carew reflected for a moment with her eyes upon the carpet,and then flung up her head with a gesture of despair. "No. I try allthe time to remember. But it is no good."
Mr. Ricardo could not restrain a movement of indignation. He was beingplayed with. The girl with her fantastic story had worked him up to areal pitch of excitement only to make a fool of him. All his earliersuspicions flowed back into his mind. What if, after all, she wasimplicated in the murder and the theft? What if, with a perversecunning, she had told Hanaud and himself just enough of what she knew,just enough of the truth, to persuade them to protect her? What if herfrank confession of her own overpowering impulse to steal the necklacewas nothing more than a subtle appeal to the sentimental pity of men,an appeal based upon a wider knowledge of men's weaknesses than a girlof nineteen or twenty ought to have? Mr. Ricardo cleared his throatand sat forward in his chair. He was girding himself for a singularlysearching interrogatory when Hanaud asked the most irrelevant ofquestions:
"How did you pass the evening of that night when you first dreamedcomplete the face of your assailant?"
Joan Carew reflected. Then her face cleared.
"I know," she exclaimed. "I was at the opera."
"And what was being given?"
"_The Jewels of the Madonna_."
Hanaud nodded his head. To Ricardo it seemed that he had expectedprecisely that answer.
"Now," he continued, "you are sure that you have seen this man?"
"Yes."
"Very well," said Hanaud. "There is a game you play at children'sparties--is there not?--animal, vegetable, or mineral, and always youget the answer. Let us play that game for a few minutes, you and I."
Joan Carew drew up her chair to the table and sat with her chinpropped upon her hands and her eyes fixed on Hanaud's face. As he puteach question she pondered on it and answered. If she answereddoubtfully he pressed it.
"You crossed on the _Lucania_ from New York?"
"Yes."
"Picture to yourself the dining-room, the tables. You have the picturequite clear?"
"Yes."
"Was it at breakfast that you saw him?"
"No."
"At luncheon?"
"No."
"At dinner?"
She paused for a moment, summoning before her eyes the travellers atthe tables.
"No."
"Not in the dining-table at all, then?"
"No."
"In the library, when you were writing letters, did you not one daylift your head and see him?"
"No."
"On the promenade deck? Did he pass you when you sat in yourdeck-chair, or did you pass him when he sat in his chair?"
"No."
Step by step Hanaud took her back to New York to her hotel, tojourneys in the train. Then he carried her to Milan where she hadstudied. It was extraordinary to Ricardo to realise how much Hanaudknew of the curriculum of a student aspiring to grand opera. FromMilan he brought her again to New York, and at the last, with a startof joy, she cried: "Yes, it was there."
Hanaud took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
"Ouf!" he grunted. "To concentrate the mind on a day like this, itmakes one hot, I can tell you. Now, Miss Carew, let us hear."
It was at a concert at the house of a Mrs. Starlingshield in FifthAvenue and in the afternoon. Joan Carew sang. She was a stranger toNew York and very nervous. She saw nothing but a mist of faces whilstshe sang, but when she had finished the mist cleared, and as she leftthe improvised stage she saw the man. He was standing against the wallin a line of men. There was no particular reason why her eyes shouldsingle him out, except that he was paying no attention to her singing,and, indeed, she forgot him altogether afterwards.
"I just happened to see him clearly and distinctly," she said. "He wastall, clean-shaven, rather dark, not particularly young--thirty-fiveor so, I should say--a man with a heavy face and beginning to growstout. He moved away whilst I was bowing to the audience, and Inoticed him afterwards walking about, talking to people."
"Do you remember to whom?"
"No."
"Did he notice you, do you think?"
"I am sure he didn't," the girl replied emphatically. "He never lookedat the stage where I was singing, and he never looked towards meafterwards."
She gave, so far as she could remember, the names of such guests andsingers as she knew at that party. "And that is all," she said.
"Thank you," said Hanaud. "It is perhaps a good deal. But it isperhaps nothing at all."
"You will let me hear from you?" she cried, as she rose to her feet.
"Miss Carew, I am at your service," he returned. She gave him her handtimidly and he took it cordially. For Mr. Ricardo she had merely abow, a bow which recognised that he distrusted her and that she had noright to be offended. Then she went, and Hanaud smiled across thetable at Ricardo.
"Yes," he said, "all that you are thinking is true enough. A man whoslips out of society to indulge a passion for a drug in greater peace,a girl who, on her own confession, tried to steal, and, to crown all,this fantastic story. It is natural to disbelieve every word of it.But we disbelieved before, when we left Calladine's lodging in theAdelphi, and we were wrong. Let us be warned."
"You have an idea?" exclaimed Ricardo.
"Perhaps!" said Hanaud. And he looked down the theatre column of the_Times_. "Let us distract ourselves by going to the theatre."
"You are the most irritating man!" Mr. Ricardo broke out impulsively."If I had to paint your portrait, I should paint you with your fingeragainst the side of your nose, saying mysteriously: '_I_ know,' whenyou know nothing at all."
Hanaud made a schoolboy's grimace. "We will go and sit in your box atthe opera to-night," he said, "and you shall explain to me all throughthe beautiful music the theory of the tonic sol-fa."
They reached Covent Garden before the curtain rose. Mr. Ricardo's boxwas on the lowest tier and next to the omnibus box.
"We are near the stage," said Hanaud, as he took his seat in thecorner and so arranged the curtain that he could see and yet washidden from view. "I like that."
The theatre was full; stalls and boxes shimmered with jewels andsatin, and all that was famous that season for beauty and distinctionhad made its tryst there that night.
"Yes, this is wonderful," said Hanaud. "What opera do they play?" Heglanced at his programme and cried, with a little start of surprise:"We are in luck. It is _The Jewels of the Madonna_."
"Do you believe in omens?" Mr. Ricardo asked coldly. He had not yetrecovered from his rebuff of the afternoon.
"No, but I believe that Carmen Valeri is at her best in this part,"said Hanaud.
Mr. Ricardo belonged to that body of critics which must needs spoilyour enjoyment by comparisons and recollections of other greatartists. He was at a disadvantage certainly to-night, for the operawas new. But he did his best. He imagined others in the part, and whenthe great scene came at the end of the second act, and Carmen Valeri,on obtaining from her lover the jewels stolen from the sacred image,gave such a display of passion as fairly enthralled that audience, Mr.Ricardo sighed quietly and patiently.
"How Calve would have brought out the psychological value of thatscene!" he murmured; and he was quite vexed with Hanaud, who sat withhis opera glasses held to his eyes, and every sense apparentlyconcentrated on the stage. The curtains rose and rose again when theact was concluded, and still Hanaud sat motionless as the Sphynx,staring through his glasses.
"That is all," said Ricardo when the curtains fe
ll for the fifth time.
"They will come out," said Hanaud. "Wait!" And from between thecurtains Carmen Valeri was led out into the full glare of thefootlights with the panoply of jewels flashing on her breast. Then atlast Hanaud put down his glasses and turned to Ricardo with a look ofexultation and genuine delight upon his face which filled thatseason-worn dilettante with envy.
"What a night!" said Hanaud. "What a wonderful night!" And heapplauded until he split his gloves. At the end of the opera he cried:"We will go and take supper at the Semiramis. Yes, my