"Yes," he said, "so it seems. The shoemaker can help us here. I
see the shoes were made in Aix."

Besnard looked at the name stamped in gold letters upon the lining
of the shoes.

"I will have inquiries made," he said.

Hanaud nodded, took a measure from his pocket and measured the
ground between the window and the first footstep, and between the
first footstep and the other two.

"How tall is Mlle. Celie?" he asked, and he addressed the question
to Wethermill. It struck Ricardo as one of the strangest details
in all this strange affair that the detective should ask with
confidence for information which might help to bring Celia Harland
to the guillotine from the man who had staked his happiness upon
her innocence.

"About five feet seven," he answered.

Hanaud replaced his measure in his pocket. He turned with a grave
face to Wethermill.

"I warned you fairly, didn't I?" he said.

Wethermill's white face twitched.

"Yes," he said. "I am not afraid." But there was more of anxiety
in his voice than there had been before.