case with you."

Wethermill shut his eyes in a spasm of pain and the pallor of his
face increased.

"Suppose that Celia were one of the victims?" he cried in a
stifled voice.

Hanaud glanced at him with a look of commiseration.

"That perhaps we shall see," he said. "But what I meant was this.
A stranger like Mlle. Celie might be the accomplice in such a
crime as the crime of the Villa Rose, meaning only robbery. A
stranger might only have discovered too late that murder would be
added to the theft."

Meanwhile, in strong, clear colours, Ricardo's picture stood out
before his eyes. He was startled by hearing Wethermill say, in a
firm voice:

"My friend Ricardo has something to add to what you have said."

"I!" exclaimed Ricardo. How in the world could Wethermill know of
that clear picture in his mind?

"Yes. You saw Celia Harland on the evening before the murder."

Ricardo stared at his friend. It seemed to him that Harry
Wethermill had gone out of his mind. Here he was corroborating the
suspicions of the police by facts--damning and incontrovertible