suffering. Then at last Wethermill gave in and, broken down by the
ceaseless interrogations of the magistrate, confessed in his turn too.
The one, and the only one, who stood firmly throughout and denied the
crime was Helene Vauquier. Her thin lips were kept contemptuously
closed, whatever the others might admit. With a white, hard face,
quietly and respectfully she faced the magistrate week after week. She
was the perfect picture of a servant who knew her place. And nothing
was wrung from her. But without her help the story became complete. And
Ricardo was at pains to write it out.

CHAPTER XV

CELIA'S STORY

The story begins with the explanation of that circumstance which had
greatly puzzled Mr. Ricardo--Celia's entry into the household of Mme.
Dauvray.

Celia's father was a Captain Harland, of a marching regiment, who had
little beyond good looks and excellent manners wherewith to support his
position. He was extravagant in his tastes, and of an easy mind in the
presence of embarrassments. To his other disadvantages he added that of
falling in love with a pretty girl no better off than himself. They
married, and Celia was born. For nine years they managed, through the
wife's constant devotion, to struggle along and to give their daughter
an education. Then, however, Celia's mother broke down under the strain
and died. Captain Harland, a couple of years later, went out of the
service with discredit, passed through the bankruptcy court, and turned
showman. His line was thought-reading; he enlisted the services of his
daughter, taught her the tricks of his trade, and became "The Great
Fortinbras" of the music-halls. Captain Harland would move amongst the
audience, asking the spectators in a whisper to think of a number or of
an article in their pockets, after the usual fashion, while the child,
in her short frock, with her long fair hair tied back with a ribbon,
would stand blind-folded upon the platform and reel off the answers
with astonishing rapidity. She was singularly quick, singularly
receptive.

The undoubted cleverness of the performance, and the beauty of the
child, brought to them a temporary prosperity. The Great Fortinbras
rose from the music-halls to the assembly rooms of provincial towns.
The performance became genteel, and ladies flocked to the matinees.

The Great Fortinbras dropped his pseudonym and became once more Captain
Harland.

As Celia grew up, he tried a yet higher flight--he