"You are coming, then, to help us, M. Hanaud!" he cried, extending
his hands. "You will find no jealousy here; no spirit amongst us
of anything but good will; no desire except one to carry out your
suggestions. All we wish is that the murderers should be
discovered. Mon Dieu, what a crime! And so young a girl to be
involved in it! But what will you?"

"So you have already made your mind up on that point!" said Hanaud
sharply.

The Commissaire shrugged his shoulders.

"Examine the villa and then judge for yourself whether any other
explanation is conceivable," he said; and turning, he waved his
hand towards the house. Then he cried, "Ah!" and drew himself into
an attitude of attention. A tall, thin man of about forty-five
years, dressed in a frock coat and a high silk hat, had just come
round an angle of the drive and was moving slowly towards them. He
wore the soft, curling brown beard of one who has never used a
razor on his chin, and had a narrow face with eyes of a very light
grey, and a round bulging forehead.

"This is the Juge d'Instruction?" asked Hanaud.

"Yes; M. Fleuriot," replied Louis Besnard in a whisper.

M. Fleuriot was occupied with his own thoughts, and it was not
until Besnard stepped forward noisily on the gravel that he became
aware of the group in the garden.