been kept in
a most neat and orderly manner by the attentive Cecilie, who was
apparently a model servant.

The little white bathroom was equally immaculate, and Kennedy passed
next to an examination of the little room of the French maid.

Cecilie was a pretty, dark little being, with snapping black eyes, the
type of winsome French maid that one would naturally have expected
Rawaruska, with her artist's love of the beautiful, to have picked out
to serve her dainty self.

As I ran my eye over the group that was now intently watching Kennedy at
work, I fancied I caught Elsa Hoffman eyeing Cecilie sharply, and I am
sure that once at least those black eyes snapped back a wireless message
of defiance at the penetrating eyes of blue. I could feel instinctively
the atmosphere of hostility between the two women.

"The door was not locked, you say?" repeated Craig, following up one of
the first of his own questions to Cecilie, which had resulted in
unearthing this new fact.

"Non, monsieur," replied Cecilie in accented English which was charming.
"Mam'selle--we all called her that, her stage name,--used to leave it
open in case of fire or accident. She had a terrible fear of drowning.
You know there have been some awful wrecks lately, and she was, oh, so
nervous."

"But her valuables?" prompted Craig quickly, watching the effect of his
question.

"All in the ship's safe, in care of the purser," replied Cecilie. "So
were Miss Hoffman's."

"Yes," corroborated Thompson, "and, besides, the corridors and
passageways are well patrolled by stewards at all times."

The search of Cecilie's room, which was smaller and more scantily
furnished, took only a few minutes.

A suppressed exclamation from Craig served to divert my attention from
the study of those around me to the study of Kennedy himself, and what
he had discovered.

Hidden away in the back of a drawer in a small chiffonier, he had come
across several articles that aroused interest if they did not whet the
blade of suspicion.

"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed the maid as Kennedy suppressed a smile of
gratification at the outcome of the search. "But that is not mine!"

Kennedy drew out from the back of the drawer, where it had been tucked,
a little silken bag. He opened it. On the surface it seemed that the bag
was empty. But as he brought it cautiously closer to his face to peer
in, I could see that just a whiff of its contents was enough.

"What have you there?" I aske