guilt would fall upon her. There would be
proof that she ran hurriedly from the room and sprang into a motor-car
of her own free will. But, again, if that theory were true, then Helene
Vauquier was the accomplice and not Mlle. Celie."

"I follow that."

"Then I found an interesting piece of evidence with regard to the
strange woman who came: I picked up a long red hair--a very important
piece of evidence about which I thought it best to say nothing at all.
It was not Mlle. Celie's hair, which is fair; nor Vauquier's, which is
black; nor Mme. Dauvray's, which is dyed brown; nor the charwoman's,
which is grey. It was, therefore, the visitor's. Well, we went upstairs
to Mile. Celie's room."

"Yes," said Mr. Ricardo eagerly. "We are coming to the pot of cream."

"In that room we learnt that Helene Vauquier, at her own request, had
already paid it a visit. It is true the Commissaire said that he had
kept his eye on her the whole time. But none the less from the window
he saw me coming down the road, and that he could not have done, as I
made sure, unless he had turned his back upon Vauquier and leaned out
of the window. Now at the time I had an open mind about Vauquier. On
the whole I was inclined to think she had no share in the affair. But
either she or Mlle. Celie had, and perhaps both. But one of them--yes.
That was sure. Therefore I asked what drawers she touched after the
Commissaire had leaned out of the window. For if she had any motive in
wishing to visit the room she would have satisfied it when the
Commissaire's back was turned. He pointed to a drawer, and I took out a
dress and shook it, thinking that she may have wished to hide
something. But nothing fell out. On the other hand, however, I saw some
quite fresh grease-marks, made by fingers, and the marks were wet. I
began to ask myself how it was that Helene Vauquier, who had just been
helped to dress by the nurse, had grease upon her fingers. Then I
looked at a drawer which she had examined first of all. There were no
grease-marks on the clothes she had turned over before the Commissaire
leaned out of the window. Therefore it followed that during the few
seconds when he was watching me she had touched grease. I looked about
the room, and there on the dressing-table close by the chest of drawers
was a pot of cold cream. That was the grease Helene Vauquier had
touched. And why--if not to hide some small thing in it which, firstly,
she dared not keep in her o