and
trousers of dark-brown leather. The pockets were empty: no papers, no
pocket-book, no watch.

The grocer and his shopman were summoned and, two days later, formally
identified, by his dress and figure, the traveller who had bought the
petrol and provisions on the Saturday evening.

The whole case, therefore, had to be reopened on a fresh basis. The
authorities were confronted with a tragedy no longer enacted by two
persons, a man and a woman, of whom one had killed the other, but by
three persons, including two victims, of whom one was the very man who
was accused of killing his companion.

As to the murderer, there was no doubt: he was the person who travelled
inside the motor-car and who took the precaution to remain concealed
behind the curtains. He had first got rid of the driver and rifled his
pockets and then, after wounding the woman, carried her off in a mad
dash for death.

* * * * *

Given a fresh case, unexpected discoveries, unforeseen evidence, one
might have hoped that the mystery would be cleared up, or, at least,
that the inquiry would point a few steps along the road to the truth.
But not at all. The corpse was simply placed beside the first corpse.
New problems were added to the old. The accusation of murder was shifted
from the one to the other. And there it ended. Outside those tangible,
obvious facts there was nothing but darkness. The name of the woman, the
name of the man, the name of the murderer were so many riddles. And then
what had become of the murderer? If he had disappeared from one moment
to the other, that in itself would have been a tolerably curious
phenomenon. But the phenomenon was actually something very like a
miracle, inasmuch as the murderer had not absolutely disappeared. He was
there! He made a practice of returning to the scene of the catastrophe!
In addition to the goat-skin coat, a fur cap was picked up one day; and,
by way of an unparalleled prodigy, one morning, after a whole night
spent on guard in the rock, beside the famous turning, the detectives
found, on the grass of the turning itself, a pair of motor-goggles,
broken, rusty, dirty, done for. How had the murderer managed to bring
back those goggles unseen by the detectives? And, above all, why had he
brought them back?

Men's brains reeled in the presence of such abnormalities. They were
almost afraid to pursue the ambiguous adventure. They received the
impression of a heavy