a taste
for the bizarre, it was with an effort. He was naturally of an orderly
mind, and to touch the eerie or inhuman caused him a physical
discomfort. So now he marvelled in a great uneasiness at the calm
placidity with which Wethermill had talked, his arm in his, while the
load of so dark a crime to be committed within the hour lay upon his
mind. Each minute he must have been thinking, with a swift spasm of the
heart, "Should such a precaution fail--should such or such an
unforeseen thing intervene," yet there had been never a sign of
disturbance, never a hint of any disquietude.

Then Ricardo's thoughts turned as he tossed upon his bed to Celia
Harland, a tragic and a lonely figure. He recalled the look of
tenderness upon her face when her eyes had met Harry Wethermill's
across the baccarat-table in the Villa des Fleurs. He gained some
insight into the reason why she had clung so desperately to Hanaud's
coat-sleeve yesterday. Not merely had he saved her life. She was lying
with all her world of trust and illusion broken about her, and Hanaud
had raised her up. She had found some one whom she trusted--the big
Newfoundland dog, as she expressed it. Mr. Ricardo was still thinking
of Celia Harland when the morning came. He fell asleep, and awoke to
find Hanaud by his bed.

"You will be wanted today," said Hanaud.

Ricardo got up and walked down from the hotel with the detective. The
front door faces the hillside of Mont Revard, and on this side Mr.
Ricardo's rooms looked out. The drive from the front door curves round
the end of the long building and joins the road, which then winds down
towards the town past the garden at the back of the hotel. Down this
road the two men walked, while the supporting wall of the garden upon
their right hand grew higher and higher above their heads. They came to
a steep flight of steps which makes a short cut from the hotel to the
road, and at the steps Hanaud stopped.

"Do you see?" he said. "On the opposite side there are no houses; there
is only a wall. Behind the wall there are climbing gardens and the
ground falls steeply to the turn of the road below. There's a flight of
steps leading down which corresponds with the flight of steps from the
garden. Very often there's a serjent-de-ville stationed on the top of
the steps. But there was not one there yesterday afternoon at three.
Behind us is the supporting wall of the hotel garden. Well, look about
you. We cannot be seen from th