for years! Also there was a Monsieur
Louis, an engraver, who used to take tea with us in the evening
sometimes, his wife also: he is employed in the Posts and Telegraphs. We
had practically no other acquaintances."

Elizabeth stopped. There was a silence. Fandor asked another question:

"Tell me, mademoiselle, when you entered the studio for the first time
after the tragedy, did you notice anything abnormal?"

The poor girl shuddered at the appalling picture before her mind's eye:

"Good Heavens, monsieur," she cried, "I did not examine the studio
minutely! I had only one thought--to be with my brother, who had been so
unjustly accused, so ..."

Fandor interrupted to ask:

"Do you not know that at his preliminary examination your brother
declared that he had not received a single visitor during the evening
preceding the tragedy? How then do you explain the fact that the
Baroness de Vibray was found dead in his studio, and at his side, when
no one had seen her enter it? Did your brother make a mistake? Please
tell me what you think about it!"

Elizabeth gazed anxiously at the young journalist, then fixed her eyes
on the floor. Her hands twitched; she began to twist her fingers
feverishly:

"Do trust me!" begged Jerome Fandor. "Please tell me what you think!"

Elizabeth rose, took several steps, and placed herself in front of the
journalist:

"Ah, monsieur, there is something mysterious, which I cannot explain! As
a matter of fact, someone must have come to see my brother that evening:
I cannot assert it as a fact beyond dispute certainly: but in my own
mind I feel quite sure about it."

"But you must have more proof of it than that?" cried Fandor.

"But--there is more!" cried Elizabeth, as if enlightened by a sudden
discovery: "There is a fact!..."

"Tell me, do!" cried Fandor, intensely interested.

"Well, just imagine, then! Among the papers scattered over his table,
and close to his book, which was open, I noticed a sort of list of names
and addresses, written on our own note-paper, and in the kind of green
ink we use--so--well ..."

"So," interrupted the journalist, "you came to the conclusion that this
list had been written at your brother's house?"

"Yes, and it was not my brother's handwriting."

"Nor that of the Baroness de Vibray?"

"Nor that of the Baroness de Vibray!"

"And what did this list contain?"

"Names, addresses, I tell you, of persons we knew. There were also two
or three d