"On Saturday, monsieur."

"Did you ask particularly that you should have yesterday, the
Tuesday?"

"No, monsieur; I asked only for a day whenever it should be
convenient to madame."

"Quite so," said Hanaud. "Now, when did Mme. Dauvray tell you that
you might have Tuesday?"

Servettaz hesitated. His face became troubled. When he spoke, he
spoke reluctantly.

"It was not Mme. Dauvray, monsieur, who told me that I might go on
Tuesday," he said.

"Not Mme. Dauvray! Who was it, then?" Hanaud asked sharply.

Servettaz glanced from one to another of the grave faces which
confronted him.

"It was Mlle. Celie," he said, "who told me."

"Oh!" said Hanaud, slowly. "It was Mlle. Celie. When did she tell
you?"

"On Monday morning, monsieur. I was cleaning the car. She came to
the garage with some flowers in her hand which she had been
cutting in the garden, and she said: 'I was right, Alphonse.