cream.
Chapter VIII - The Captain of the Ship
*
Hanaud walked away from the Villa Rose in the company of Wethermill and
Ricardo.
"We will go and lunch," he said.
"Yes; come to my hotel," said Harry Wethermill. But Hanaud shook his
head.
"No; come with me to the Villa des Fleurs," he replied. "We may learn
something there; and in a case like this every minute is of importance.
We have to be quick."
"I may come too?" cried Mr. Ricardo eagerly.
"By all means," replied Hanaud, with a smile of extreme courtesy.
"Nothing could be more delicious than monsieur's suggestions"; and with
that remark he walked on silently.
Mr. Ricardo was in a little doubt as to the exact significance of the
words. But he was too excited to dwell long upon them. Distressed
though he sought to be at his friend's grief, he could not but assume
an air of importance. All the artist in him rose joyfully to the
occasion. He looked upon himself from the outside. He fancied without
the slightest justification that people were pointing him out. "That
man has been present at the investigation at the Villa Rose," he seemed
to hear people say. "What strange things he could tell us if he would!"
And suddenly, Mr. Ricardo began to reflect. What, after all, could he
have told them?
And that question he turned over in his mind while he ate his luncheon.
Hanaud wrote a letter between the courses. They were sitting at a
corner table, and Hanaud was in the corner with his back to the wall.
He moved his plate, too, over the letter as he wrote it. It would have
been impossible for either of his guests to see what he had written,
even if they had wished. Ricardo, indeed, did wish. He rather resented
the secrecy with which the detective, under a show of openness,
shrouded his thoughts and acts. Hanaud sent the waiter out to fetch an
officer in plain clothes, who was in attendance at the door, and he
handed the letter to this man. Then he turned with an apology to his
guests.
"It is necessary that we should find out," he explained, "as soon as
possible, the whole record of Mlle. Celie."
He lighted a cigar, and over the coffee he put a question to Ricardo.
"Now tell me what you make of the case. What M. Wethermill thinks—that
is clear, is it not? Helene Vauquier is the guilty one. But you, M.
Ricardo? What is your opinion?"
Ricardo took from his pocket-book a sheet of paper and from his pocket
a pencil. He was intensely flattered by the request of Hanaud, and he
proposed to do himself justice. "I will make a note here of what I
think the salient features of the mystery"; and he proceeded to
tabulate the points in the following way:
(1) Celia Harland made her entrance into Mme. Dauvray's household under
very doubtful circumstances.
(2) By methods still more doubtful she acquired an extraordinary
ascendency over Mme. Dauvray's mind.
(3) If proof were needed how complete that ascendency was, a glance at
Celia Harland's wardrobe would suffice; for she wore the most expensive
clothes.
(4) It was Celia Harland who arranged that Servettaz, the chauffeur,
should be absent at Chambery on the Tuesday night—the night of the
murder.
(5) It was Celia Harland who bought the cord with which Mme. Dauvray
was strangled and Helene Vauquier bound.
(6) The footsteps outside the salon show that Celia Harland ran from
the salon to the motor-car.
(7) Celia Harland pretended that there should be a seance on the
Tuesday, but she dressed as though she had in view an appointment with
a lover, instead of a spiritualistic stance.
(8) Celia Harland has disappeared.
These eight points are strongly suggestive of Celia Harland's
complicity in the murder. But I have no clue which will enable me to
answer the following questions:
(a) Who was the man who took part in the crime?
(b) Who was the woman who came to the villa on the evening of the murder with Mme. Dauvray
and Celia Harland?
(c) What actually happened in the salon? How was the murder committed?
(d) Is Helene Vauquier's
Chapter VIII - The Captain of the Ship
*
Hanaud walked away from the Villa Rose in the company of Wethermill and
Ricardo.
"We will go and lunch," he said.
"Yes; come to my hotel," said Harry Wethermill. But Hanaud shook his
head.
"No; come with me to the Villa des Fleurs," he replied. "We may learn
something there; and in a case like this every minute is of importance.
We have to be quick."
"I may come too?" cried Mr. Ricardo eagerly.
"By all means," replied Hanaud, with a smile of extreme courtesy.
"Nothing could be more delicious than monsieur's suggestions"; and with
that remark he walked on silently.
Mr. Ricardo was in a little doubt as to the exact significance of the
words. But he was too excited to dwell long upon them. Distressed
though he sought to be at his friend's grief, he could not but assume
an air of importance. All the artist in him rose joyfully to the
occasion. He looked upon himself from the outside. He fancied without
the slightest justification that people were pointing him out. "That
man has been present at the investigation at the Villa Rose," he seemed
to hear people say. "What strange things he could tell us if he would!"
And suddenly, Mr. Ricardo began to reflect. What, after all, could he
have told them?
And that question he turned over in his mind while he ate his luncheon.
Hanaud wrote a letter between the courses. They were sitting at a
corner table, and Hanaud was in the corner with his back to the wall.
He moved his plate, too, over the letter as he wrote it. It would have
been impossible for either of his guests to see what he had written,
even if they had wished. Ricardo, indeed, did wish. He rather resented
the secrecy with which the detective, under a show of openness,
shrouded his thoughts and acts. Hanaud sent the waiter out to fetch an
officer in plain clothes, who was in attendance at the door, and he
handed the letter to this man. Then he turned with an apology to his
guests.
"It is necessary that we should find out," he explained, "as soon as
possible, the whole record of Mlle. Celie."
He lighted a cigar, and over the coffee he put a question to Ricardo.
"Now tell me what you make of the case. What M. Wethermill thinks—that
is clear, is it not? Helene Vauquier is the guilty one. But you, M.
Ricardo? What is your opinion?"
Ricardo took from his pocket-book a sheet of paper and from his pocket
a pencil. He was intensely flattered by the request of Hanaud, and he
proposed to do himself justice. "I will make a note here of what I
think the salient features of the mystery"; and he proceeded to
tabulate the points in the following way:
(1) Celia Harland made her entrance into Mme. Dauvray's household under
very doubtful circumstances.
(2) By methods still more doubtful she acquired an extraordinary
ascendency over Mme. Dauvray's mind.
(3) If proof were needed how complete that ascendency was, a glance at
Celia Harland's wardrobe would suffice; for she wore the most expensive
clothes.
(4) It was Celia Harland who arranged that Servettaz, the chauffeur,
should be absent at Chambery on the Tuesday night—the night of the
murder.
(5) It was Celia Harland who bought the cord with which Mme. Dauvray
was strangled and Helene Vauquier bound.
(6) The footsteps outside the salon show that Celia Harland ran from
the salon to the motor-car.
(7) Celia Harland pretended that there should be a seance on the
Tuesday, but she dressed as though she had in view an appointment with
a lover, instead of a spiritualistic stance.
(8) Celia Harland has disappeared.
These eight points are strongly suggestive of Celia Harland's
complicity in the murder. But I have no clue which will enable me to
answer the following questions:
(a) Who was the man who took part in the crime?
(b) Who was the woman who came to the villa on the evening of the murder with Mme. Dauvray
and Celia Harland?
(c) What actually happened in the salon? How was the murder committed?
(d) Is Helene Vauquier's
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