er and patting her
hand sympathetically. "Now, I want you to tell these gentlemen and
myself all that you know of this dreadful business. Take your time,
mademoiselle! We are human."

"But, monsieur, I know nothing," she cried. "I was told that I might go
to bed as soon as I had dressed Mlle. Celie for the seance."

"Seance!" cried Ricardo, startled into speech. The picture of the
Assembly Hall at Leamington was again before his mind. But Hanaud
turned towards him, and, though Hanaud's face retained its benevolent
expression, there was a glitter in his eyes which sent the blood into
Ricardo's face.

"Did you speak again, M. Ricardo?" the detective asked. "No? I thought
it was not possible." He turned back to Helene Vauquier. "So Mlle.
Celie practised seances. That is very strange. We will hear about them.
Who knows what thread may lead us to the truth?"

Helene Vauquier shook her head.

"Monsieur, it is not right that you should seek the truth from me. For,
consider this! I cannot speak with justice of Mlle. Celie. No, I
cannot! I did not like her. I was jealous--yes, jealous, Monsieur, you
want the truth--I hated her!" And the woman's face flushed and she
clenched her hand upon the arm of her chair. "Yes, I hated her. How
could I help it?" she asked.

"Why?" asked Hanaud gently. "Why could you not help it?"

Helene Vauquier leaned back again, her strength exhausted, and smiled
languidly.

"I will tell you. But remember it is a woman speaking to you, and
things which you will count silly and trivial mean very much to her.
There was one night last June--only last June! To think of it! So
little while ago there was no Mlle. Celie--" and, as Hanaud raised his
hand, she said hurriedly, "Yes, yes; I will control myself. But to
think of Mme. Dauvray now!"

And thereupon she blurted out her story and explained to Mr. Ricardo
the question which had so perplexed him: how a girl of so much
distinction as Celia Harland came to be living with a woman of so
common a type as Mme. Dauvray.

"Well, one night in June," said Helene Vauquier, "madame went with a
party to supper at the Abbaye Restaurant in Montmartre. And she brought
home for the first time Mlle. Celie. But you should have seen her! She
had on a little plaid skirt and a coat which was falling to pieces, and
she was starving--yes, starving. Madame told me the story that night as
I undressed her. Mlle. Celie was there dancing amidst the tables for a
supper with