rs.

"You heard, holy madam, that he had committed suicide?" suggested the
harder-nerved inspector.

The abbess bowed gravely.

"It is unfortunately quite true," said Inspector Setter. "You see,
reverend madam, we traced him and his young--woman--I beg your reverend
ladyship's pardon, holy madam--to Paris. Afterwards, we tracked them to
L'Ange. We reached L'Ange this morning, and learned that our man had
walked out toward the convent here. We followed, and came upon him near
the south gate. I accosted him, and arrested him. He was as cool as a
cucumber, and quick as lightning! Before we could suspect or prevent the
action, he whipped a pistol out of his breast-pocket, and presented it at
his own head. I seized his arm while his finger was on the trigger; but
was too late to save him. He fired! I only changed the direction of the
ball, which, instead of blowing off his head, buried itself somewhere in
his body. He fell, a crowd gathered, we picked him up, took a leaf of the
gate off its hinges, laid him on it, and brought him in here. That is
all, your reverend ladyship. The doctor says the wound is mortal; I must
remain in charge until all is over; but I don't want a body-guard, and if
your ladyship's politeness will permit me. I will dismiss all these men
and see them out."

"Do so, if you please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Oh, this is too horrible!"
said the abbess.

While she was yet speaking, the surgeon also re-entered the refectory.

"How goes it with your patient, Monsieur le Docteur?" inquired the lady.

"He will die, good madam. Velpeau himself could not save him; he knows
that he will die as well as we do, for he has recovered consciousness,
and desired that a telegram be sent off immediately to summon the Duke
of Hereward, whom he seems extremely anxious to see. I have written the
message; here it is. I cannot leave my patient, or I would take it
myself; but Monsieur l'Inspecteur, perhaps you can provide me with a
messenger to carry this to L'Ange," said the surgeon.

"Certainly," agreed Mr. Setter, taking the written message and reading
it. "But you have directed this to Hereward House, Piccadilly, London?"

"I wrote it at the dictation of my patient."

"He is mistaken. The Duke of Hereward is living in Paris, at Meurice's.
I will make the correction," said Mr. Setter, drawing from his pocket a
lead pencil and a blank-book, upon a leaf of which he re-wrote the
message. He tore out the leaf, and read w