d folded up the letter, and rose to his feet.

"We will go now, and we will take this letter with us." Hanaud looked
about the room, and picked up a glove lying upon a table. "I left this
behind me," he said, putting it into his pocket. "By the way, where is
the telegram from Marthe Gobin?"

"You put it in your letter-case."

"Oh, did I?"

Hanaud took out his letter-case and found the telegram within it. His
face lightened.

"Good!" he said emphatically. "For, since we have this telegram, there
must have been another message sent from Adele Rossignol to Aix saying
that Marthe Gobin, that busybody, that inquisitive neighbour, who had
no doubt seen M. Ricardo's advertisement, was on her way hither. Oh it
will not be put as crudely as that, but that is what the message will
mean. We shall have him." And suddenly his face grew very stern. "I
MUST catch him, for Marthe Gobin's death I cannot forgive. A poor woman
meaning no harm, and murdered like a sheep under our noses. No, that I
cannot forgive."

Ricardo wondered whether it was the actual murder of Marthe Gobin or
the fact that he had been beaten and outwitted which Hanaud could not
forgive. But discretion kept him silent.

"Let us go," said Hanaud. "By the lift, if you please; it will save
time."

They descended into the hall close by the main door. The body of Marthe
Gobin had been removed to the mortuary of the town. The life of the
hotel had resumed its course.

"M. Besnard has gone, I suppose?" Hanaud asked of the porter; and,
receiving an assent, he walked quickly out of the front door.

"But there is a shorter way," said Ricardo, running after him: "across
the garden at the back and down the steps."

"It will make no difference now," said Hanaud.

They hurried along the drive and down the road which circled round the
hotel and dipped to the town.

Behind Hanaud's hotel Ricardo's car was waiting.

"We must go first to Besnard's office. The poor man will be at his
wits' end to know who was Mme. Gobin and what brought her to Aix.
Besides, I wish to send a message over the telephone."

Hanaud descended and spent a quarter of an hour with the Commissaire.
As he came out he looked at his watch.

"We shall be in time, I think," he said. He climbed into the car. "The
murder of Marthe Gobin on her way from the station will put our friends
at their ease. It will be published, no doubt, in the evening papers,
and those good people over there in Geneva wi