ack
of skill."

"Meaning--?"

"Meaning that she was doubtless only a tool in the hands of an
accomplice."

"An accomplice?"

"Remember, Monsieur le Prefet, her husband's exclamation in your office
yesterday: 'Oh, the scoundrels! the scoundrels!' There is, therefore, at
least one accomplice, who perhaps is the same as the man who was present,
as Sergeant Mazeroux must have told you, in the Cafe du Pont-Neuf when
Inspector Verot was last there: a man with a reddish-brown beard,
carrying an ebony walking-stick with a silver handle. So that--"

"So that," said M. Desmalions, completing the sentence, "by arresting
Mme. Fauville to-day, merely on suspicion, we have a chance of laying our
hands on the accomplice."

Perenna did not reply. The Prefect continued, thoughtfully:

"Arrest her ... arrest her.... We should need a proof for that.... Did
you receive no clue?"

"None at all, Monsieur le Prefet. True, my search was only summary."

"But ours was most minute. We have been through every corner of
the room."

"And the garden, Monsieur le Prefet?"

"The garden also."

"With the same care?"

"Perhaps not.... But I think--"

"I think, on the contrary, Monsieur le Prefet, that, as the murderers
passed through the garden in coming and going, there might be a chance--"

"Mazeroux," said M. Desmalions, "go outside and make a more thorough
inspection."

The sergeant went out. Perenna, who was once more standing at one side,
heard the Prefect of Police repeating to the examining magistrate:

"Ah, if we only had a proof, just one! The woman is evidently guilty. The
presumption against her is too great! ... And then there are Cosmo
Mornington's millions.... But, on the other hand, look at her ... look at
all the honesty in that pretty face of hers, look at all the sincerity of
her grief."

She was still crying, with fitful sobs and starts of indignant protest
that made her clench her fists. At one moment she took her tear-soaked
handkerchief, bit it with her teeth and tore it, after the manner of
certain actresses.

Perenna saw those beautiful white teeth, a little wide, moist and
gleaming, rending the dainty cambric. And he thought of the marks of
teeth on the apple. And he was seized with an extreme longing to know the
truth. Was it the same pair of jaws that had left its impress in the pulp
of the fruit?

Mazeroux returned. M. Desmalions moved briskly toward the sergeant, who
showed him the apple which he