"When did she suggest it?"

"On the Saturday."

To Mr. Ricardo the words were startling. He glanced with pity
towards Wethermill. Wethermill, however, had made up his mind for
good and all. He stood with a dogged look upon his face, his chin
thrust forward, his eyes upon the chauffeur. Besnard, the
Commissaire, had made up his mind, too. He merely shrugged his
shoulders. Hanaud stepped forward and laid his hand gently on the
chauffeur's arm.

"Come, my friend," he said, "let us hear exactly how this
happened!"

"Mlle. Celie," said Servettaz, with genuine compunction in his
voice, "came to the garage on Saturday morning and ordered the car
for the afternoon. She stayed and talked to me for a little while,
as she often did. She said that she had been told that my parents
lived at Chambery, and since I was so near I ought to ask for a
holiday. For it would not be kind if I did not go and see them."

"That was all?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Very well." And the detective resumed at once his brisk voice and
alert manner. He seemed to dismiss Servettaz's admission from his
mind. Ricardo had the impression of a man tying up an important
document which for the moment he has done with, and putting it