"She is still weak," said the Commissaire. "But I thought it was
necessary that we should obtain at once a description of what Celie
Harland wore when she left the house. I spoke to M. Fleuriot about it,
and he gave me permission to bring Helene Vauquier here, who alone
could tell us. I brought her here myself just before you came. She
looked through the girl's wardrobe to see what was missing."

"Was she alone in the room?"

"Not for a moment," said M. Besnard haughtily. "Really, monsieur, we
are not so ignorant of how an affair of this kind should be conducted.
I was in the room myself the whole time, with my eye upon her."

"That was just before I came," said Hanaud. He crossed carelessly to
the open window which overlooked the road and, leaning out of it,
looked up the road to the corner round which he and his friends had
come, precisely as the Commissaire had done. Then he turned back into
the room.

"Which was the last cupboard or drawer that Helene Vauquier touched?"
he asked.

"This one."

Besnard stooped and pulled open the bottom drawer of a chest which
stood in the embrasure of the window. A light-coloured dress was lying
at the bottom.

"I told her to be quick," said Besnard, "since I had seen that you were
coming. She lifted this dress out and said that nothing was missing
there. So I took her back to her room and left her with the nurse."

Hanaud lifted the light dress from the drawer, shook it out in front of
the window, twirled it round, snatched up a corner of it and held it to
his eyes, and then, folding it quickly, replaced it in the drawer.

"Now show me the first drawer she touched." And this time he lifted out
a petticoat, and, taking it to the window, examined it with a greater
care. When he had finished with it he handed it to Ricardo to put away,
and stood for a moment or two thoughtful and absorbed. Ricardo in his
turn examined the petticoat. But he could see nothing unusual. It was
an attractive petticoat, dainty with frills and lace, but it was hardly
a thing to grow thoughtful over. He looked up in perplexity and saw
that Hanaud was watching his investigations with a smile of amusement.

"When M. Ricardo has put that away," he said, "we will hear what Helene
Vauquier has to tell us."

He passed out of the door last, and, locking it, placed the key in his
pocket.

"Helene Vauquier's room is, I think, upstairs," he said. And he moved
towards the staircase.

But as he did so a