to the river together. I thought I saw a movement among the
trees when the lightning lit them up--but there was nothing. I walked
round about there for a few minutes, and then went back to warn
Copplestone."

"Leaving Monsieur Dupont by the river?"

"Yes. Before I reached the house, I heard Mr. Delamere shouting the
alarm."

"Thank you," said the inspector, closing his note-book. "I am afraid I
shall have to trouble you to come here at ten o'clock and show me
certain places in the garden."

"I am entirely at your disposal," said the manager.

He went out. The inspector sat down at the table, and remained perfectly
still for half an hour.

CHAPTER XIII

THE TRINITY OF DEATH

In Tranter's car, its owner and Monsieur Dupont started, at half-past
one, on their return from the crooked house.

The storm had passed, and the air was fresh and cool. It was possibly
the atmospheric clearance which accounted for the fact, that, however,
fatigued he had been, or appeared to be, at the end of his conversation
with the inspector, Monsieur Dupont was now particularly wide-awake and
alert.

"_Dieu!_" he cried, "what a terrible crime! Almost to tear that woman to
pieces--to crush her--to rend her! And what a woman! _Ma foi_, what a
woman!"

There was a pause. Monsieur Dupont accepted and lit a cigar from
Tranter's case.

"My friend," he said quietly, "I wish to be quite fair to you."

"Fair to me?" Tranter echoed, surprised.

"Something happened to-night which you doubtless believe to be unknown
to every one except yourself."

Tranter turned to him quickly.

"I have not the habit," Monsieur Dupont continued, "of listening to
private conversations between other people. It is only on very rare
occasions that I have done so. I did so to-night."

"What do you mean?" Tranter exclaimed.

"In that horrible garden, before the crime was committed," pursued
Monsieur Dupont evenly, "I lost my way. Such a garden must have been
especially designed to cause innocent people to lose their way. I
wandered about. How I wandered!"

"What did you overhear?" asked Tranter, in a strained voice.

"A conversation--between that unfortunate Mademoiselle Manderson, and
yourself."

"You heard it?" Tranter cried sharply.

"I heard it," admitted Monsieur Dupont. "I heard a great part of it. I
believe nearly all. I should not have done so. Understand, I make you
all my apologies. It was improper to listen. But the storm, the
su