unknown to her took possession of her, soul and body. She longed for
revenge--revenge, not for herself so much as for her murdered friend. She
clutched Paul by the arm. "They killed Anna Wolsky," she whispered. "She
is lying buried in the wood, where they meant to put me if you had not
come just--only just--in time!"

Paul de Virieu took Sylvia's hat off the dining-room table, and placed it
in her hand, closing her fingers over the brim. With a mechanical gesture
she raised her arms and put it on her head. Then he ceremoniously offered
her his arm, and led her out of the dining-room into the hall.

While actually within the Châlet des Muguets Count Paul only once broke
silence. That was when Madame Wachner, still talking volubly, held out
her hand in farewell to the young Englishwoman.

"I forbid you to touch her!" the Count muttered between his teeth, and
Sylvia, withdrawing her half-outstretched hand, meekly obeyed him.

Paul de Virieu beckoned to the oldest of the police officials present.

"You will remember the disappearance from Lacville of a Polish lady? I
have reason to believe these people murdered her. When once I have placed
Madame Bailey under medical care, I will return here. Meanwhile you, of
course, know what to do."

"But M'sieur, ought I not to detain this English lady?"

"Certainly not. I make myself responsible for her. She is in no state to
bear an interrogation. Lock up these people in separate rooms. I will
send you reinforcements, and to-morrow morning _dig up the little wood