f the turquoise belonged to one of them--"

The insinuation was direct, but clumsy; and it lent the greatest weight
to Perenna's unspoken argument:

"The turquoise was picked up by some one who saw me yesterday and who
wishes to compromise me. Apart from M. Fauville and the detective
sergeant, only two people saw me: Silvestre, the manservant, and Mme.
Fauville. Consequently, as Silvestre is outside the question, I accuse
Mme. Fauville of putting the turquoise in the safe."

M. Desmalions asked:

"Will you let me see the necklace, Madame?"

"Certainly. It is with my other jewels, in my wardrobe. I will go for
it."

"Pray don't trouble, Madame. Does your maid know the necklace?"

"Quite well."

"In that case, Sergeant Mazeroux will tell her what is wanted."

* * * * *

Not a word was spoken during the few minutes for which Mazeroux was
absent. Mme. Fauville seemed absorbed in her grief. M. Desmalions kept
his eyes fixed on her.

The sergeant returned, carrying a very large box containing a number of
jewel-cases and loose ornaments.

M. Desmalions found the necklace, examined it, and realized, in fact,
that the stones did not resemble the turquoise and that none of them was
missing. But, on separating two jewel cases in order to take out a tiara
which also contained blue stones, he made a gesture of surprise.

"What are these two keys?" he asked, pointing to two keys identical in
shape and size with those which opened the lock and the bolt of the
garden door.

Mme. Fauville remained very calm. Not a muscle of her face moved. Nothing
pointed to the least perturbation on account of this discovery. She
merely said:

"I don't know. They have been there a long time."

"Mazeroux," said M. Desmalions, "try them on that door."

Mazeroux did so. The door opened.

"Yes," said Mme. Fauville. "I remember now, my husband gave them to me.
They were duplicates of his own keys--"

The words were uttered in the most natural tone and as though the speaker
did not even suspect the terrible charge that was forming against her.

And nothing was more agonizing than this tranquillity. Was it a sign of
absolute innocence, or the infernal craft of a criminal whom nothing is
able to stir? Did she realize nothing of the tragedy which was taking
place and of which she was the unconscious heroine? Or did she guess the
terrible accusation which was gradually closing in upon her on every side
and