as he would, this picture in the recollection began more and more
to wear a sinister aspect. He remembered some words spoken by a
stranger. "She is pretty, that little one. It is regrettable that
she has lost."

Mr. Ricardo arranged his tie with even a greater deliberation than
he usually employed.

"And Mme. Dauvray?" he asked. "She was the stout woman with whom
your young friend went away?"

"Yes," said Wethermill.

Ricardo turned round from the mirror.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hanaud is at Aix. He is the cleverest of the French detectives.
You know him. He dined with you once."

It was Mr. Ricardo's practice to collect celebrities round his
dinner-table, and at one such gathering Hanaud and Wethermill had
been present together.

"You wish me to approach him?"

"At once."

"It is a delicate position," said Ricardo. "Here is a man in
charge of a case of murder, and we are quietly to go to him--"