nce, and bridled visibly. Hanaud
turned towards Servettaz.

"Now," he said, "you know how much petrol was taken from the garage?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Can you tell me, by the amount which has been used, how far that car
was driven last night?" Hanaud asked.

Servettaz examined the tank.

"A long way, monsieur. From a hundred and thirty to a hundred and fifty
kilometers, I should say."

"Yes, just about that distance, I should say," cried Hanaud.

His eyes brightened, and a smile, a rather fierce smile, came to his
lips. He opened the door, and examined with a minute scrutiny the floor
of the carriage, and as he looked, the smile faded from his face.
Perplexity returned to it. He took the cushions, looked them over and
shook them out.

"I see no sign--" he began, and then he uttered a little shrill cry of
satisfaction. From the crack of the door by the hinge he picked off a
tiny piece of pale green stuff, which he spread out upon the back of
his hand.

"Tell me, what is this?" he said to Ricardo.

"It is a green fabric," said Ricardo very wisely.

"It is green chiffon," said Hanaud. "And the frock in which Mlle. Celie
went away was of green chiffon over satin. Yes, Mlle. Celie travelled
in this car."

He hurried to the driver's seat. Upon the floor there was some dark
mould. Hanaud cleaned it off with his knife and held some of it in the
palm of his hand. He turned to Servettaz.

"You drove the car on Tuesday morning before you went to Chambery?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Where did you take up Mme. Dauvray and Mlle. Celie?"

"At the front door of the Villa Rose."

"Did you get down from the seat at all?"

"No, monsieur; not after I left the garage."

Hanaud returned to his companions.

"See!" And he opened his hand. "This is black soil--moist from last
night's rain--soil like the soil in front of Mme. Dauvray's salon.
Look, here is even a blade or two of the grass"; and he turned the
mould over in the palm of his hand. Then he took an empty envelope from
his pocket and poured the soil into it and gummed the flap down. He
stood and frowned at the motor-car.

"Listen," he said, "how I am puzzled! There was a man last night at the
Villa Rose. There were a man's blurred footmarks in the mould before
the glass door. That man drove madame's car for a hundred and fifty
kilometers, and he leaves the mould which clung to his boots upon the
floor of his seat. Mlle. Celie and another woman drove away inside the