ted her beauty, and not her...?"

"Twenty years ago," said Monsieur Dupont, "there was in France a very
beautiful woman. She was named Colette d'Orsel. It was said that she was
the most beautiful woman in the country. She was also very rich, very
generous, and very kind. She was always doing good actions. She had not
an enemy in the world. There was no one who could have wished her a
moment's pain. She was only twenty-five. With several of her friends she
went to stay at Nice. One night she was found in the gardens of her
hotel--almost torn to pieces."

"I remember the case," said the inspector. "It was a ghastly affair."

"There appeared no motive. She was wearing some splendid jewels. They
had been crushed with her, but nothing was missing--not a stone. She had
just returned from the tables, and had not troubled to deposit her
winnings of the evening with the cashier of the hotel. Forty thousand
francs were found on the body. Not a note had been touched. The greatest
detectives of France were called in to solve the mystery--but they
solved nothing. They made the mistake of trying to find a motive. They
looked for a person who could have had a reason to kill her. But it was
time lost. They should have looked among the people who had no reason to
kill her. The weeks became months, and still they discovered nothing.
That crime is a mystery to-day."

The inspector's attention was rivetted. He remained silent.

"Ten years ago," Monsieur Dupont proceeded, "there was in Boston a young
girl named Margaret McCall. She was wonderfully beautiful. Her parents
were poor people, and she worked for her living. She was quiet and
reserved by nature. She made few friends, and cared little for the
society of men. Naturally there were hundreds who regretted, and
attempted to overcome, that characteristic; but she went her own way
quietly and firmly. One evening her body was found in a lonely part of
one of the public parks torn and crushed in the most terrible manner.
The police were helpless. The thing that baffled them completely was the
absence of any motive for the crime. They tried to find one--but all
that they found was what I have said, that she had been a good, honest
girl--that she had had no enemies--that she had not jilted a man, or
wronged a woman--that she had never flirted, or encouraged men to pay
attentions to her. Yet there she had been found--broken and mutilated.
The small sum of money she carried had remained unt