st, before starting the motor, have pushed their
automobile from the courtyard and out of ear-shot down the street.

For a moment I stood in the deserted room, reflecting swiftly. The
situation was desperate; in another hour the inn would be stirring, and
Miss Falconer, I felt sure, could not afford to be found here when that
came to pass. Murder investigations are searching things. All strangers
beneath this roof would be interrogated narrowly. If any one had a
secret,--and she certainly had several,--the chances were heavy that it
would be dragged to light.

For some reason this prospect was unspeakably frightful to me. Under its
spur I hatched the craziest scheme that man ever thought of, and took
steps which, as I look back at them, seem almost beyond belief. I must
get Miss Falconer off for Paris, I determined. And since it was possible
that the villagers would see us leaving, she must appear to go, as she
had come, with her chauffeur.

I descended, forthwith, to the garage where the murdered man was lying,
shook out and folded the rugs that had been scattered in the struggle,
picked up the cushions, and replaced them in the car. Then, borrowing a
ruse from the enemy, I set the door wide open, and, puffing and panting,
pushed the blue automobile into the courtyard, through the passage, and
a considerable distance down the street.

What comes next, I ask no one to credit. Retrospectively, I myself have
doubted it. It lives in my memory as a grisly nightmare rather than as
a fact. To be brief, I returned to the scene of the crime, shut out
any possible audience by closing the door, and disrobed hastily. Then
I removed the leather costume of the victim, donned it, laced on his
boots, which by good fortune were loose instead of tight, and, picking
up his visored cap from the floor where it had fallen, stood forth to
all seeming as genuine a member of the proletariate as ever wore goggles
and held a wheel.

By this time my teeth were clenched as if in the throes of lockjaw. Had
I paused to think for a single instant, all my nerve would have oozed
away. But I had no time to spend on thought; I had to work on, to save
Miss Falconer. The whole ghoulish business would be futile if the
inn servants found the body. The mere flight of all the guests would
certainly stir suspicion; let the murder transpire as well, and at once
we should be pursued.

The garage, from the looks of it, was not often put to service. A dusty