when she learns of his
visit; it opens up her bleeding heart afresh, for she and her husband
were _intime_ with the dead judge, and deeply, terribly, they deplore his
so dreadful end. I see Madame cry, and I say to myself I will not let
this little police agent spoil her beauty and give her the migraine: his
visits must be, shall be, prevented. I have heard of the so great and
good Monsieur Crewe, and I will go and see him. We will--as you say in
your English way--put our heads together, this famous detective and I,
and we will find some way of--how do you call it?--circumventing this
police agent so that my dear Madame shall cry no more. Monsieur Crewe, I
am here, and I beg of you to help me."

Crewe listened to this outburst with inward surprise but impassive
features. Apparently the police had come to the conclusion that they had
blundered in arresting Birchill for the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks,
and had recommenced inquiries with a view to bringing the crime home to
somebody else. He did not know whether their suspicions were now directed
against Mrs. Holymead, but they had conducted their preliminary inquiries
so clumsily as to arouse her fears that they did. So much was apparent
from Mademoiselle Chiron's remarks, despite the interpretation she sought
to place on Mrs. Holymead's fears. He wondered if the "police agent" was
Rolfe or Chippenfield. It was obvious that the cool proposal that he
should help to shield Mrs. Holymead against unwelcome police attentions
covered some deeper move, and he shaped his conversation in the endeavour
to extract more from the Frenchwoman.

"I am very sorry to hear that Mrs. Holymead has been subjected to this
annoyance," he said warily. "This police agent, did he come by himself?"

"But yes, monsieur, I have already said it."

"I know, but I thought he might have had a companion waiting for him in
a taxi-cab outside. Scotland Yard men frequently travel in pairs."

"He had no taxi-cab," declared Mademoiselle Chiron, positively. "He
walked away on foot by himself. I watched him from the window."

Crewe registered a mental note of this admission. If she had watched the
detective's departure from the window she evidently had some reason for
wanting to see the last of him. Aloud he said:

"I expect I know him. What was he like?"

"Tall, as tall as you, only bigger--much bigger. And he had the great
moustache which he caressed again and again with his fingers." Gabrielle
dain