peril, to look out, lean out, even try the terrible but impossible feat
of climbing out of the car.

So M. Flocon, by fair process of reasoning, reached a point which
incriminated one woman, the only woman possible, and that was the
titled, high-bred lady who called herself the Contessa di Castagneto.

This conclusion gave a definite direction to further search. Consulting
the rough plan which he had constructed to take the place of the missing
train card, he entered the compartment which the Countess had occupied,
and which was actually next door.

It was in the tumbled, untidy condition of a sleeping-place but just
vacated. The sex and quality of its recent occupant were plainly
apparent in the goods and chattels lying about, the property and
possessions of a delicate, well-bred woman of the world, things still
left as she had used them last--rugs still unrolled, a pair of
easy-slippers on the floor, the sponge in its waterproof bag on the bed,
brushes, bottles, button-hook, hand-glass, many things belonging to the
dressing-bag, not yet returned to that receptacle. The maid was no doubt
to have attended to all these, but as she had not come, they remained
unpacked and strewn about in some disorder.

M. Flocon pounced down upon the contents of the berth, and commenced an
immediate search for a lace scarf, or any wrap or cover with lace.

He found nothing, and was hardly disappointed. It told more against the
Countess, who, if innocent, would have no reason to conceal or make away
with a possibly incriminating possession, the need for which she could
not of course understand.

Next, he handled the dressing-bag, and with deft fingers replaced
everything.

Everything was forthcoming but one glass bottle, a small one, the
absence of which he noted, but thought of little consequence, till, by
and by, he came upon it under peculiar circumstances.

Before leaving the car, and after walking through the other
compartments, M. Flocon made an especially strict search of the corner
where the porter had his own small chair, his only resting-place,
indeed, throughout the journey. He had not forgotten the attendant's
condition when first examined, and he had even then been nearly
satisfied that the man had been hocussed, narcotized, drugged.

Any doubts were entirely removed by his picking up near the porter's
seat a small silver-topped bottle and a handkerchief, both marked with
coronet and monogram, the last of which, al