She was not able to recognise how keen was Crewe’s interest in her statement, but she saw that she had pleased him.

“It is because of this that he will come again,” she continued.  “It is because of this that he would question Madame Holymead.  And then what will happen?  I do not know.  The police make so many mistakes—­blunders you English call them.  Would they arrest her with their blunders?  That is why I come to you to ask you to save her.”

“May I have the revolver and the handkerchief?” asked Crewe.  “I will take great care of them.”

“They are at your disposal, for you will use them to confront the police agent.”

Crewe again examined the articles in silence before taking them to his secretaire and locking them up in one of the pigeon-holes.  Then he turned to Gabrielle, whose large luminous eyes met his unhesitatingly.  She even smiled slightly—­a frank engaging smile, as she remarked: 

“And now, monsieur, any more questions?”

Crewe smiled back at her.

“You have told a remarkable story, mademoiselle, and corroborated it with two important pieces of evidence, which are in themselves almost sufficient to carry conviction,” he said.  “But the Scotland Yard police are a suspicious lot, and it is necessary for me to have further information in order to convince them—­if I am to help you as you wish.”

Gabrielle flashed a look of gratitude at Crewe.  She understood from his words that he believed her story and was disposed to help her, although the police of Scotland Yard might prove harder to convince than him.

“Bah! those police agents—­they are the same everywhere,” she exclaimed.  “They deal so much with crime that their minds get the taint, and between the false and true they cannot tell the difference. Que voulez-vous? They are but small in brains.  With you, the case is different.  You have it here—­and there.”  She touched her temples lightly with a finger of each hand.  “Proceed, monsieur:  ask me what questions you will.  I shall endeavour to answer them.”

“You said that as you were hiding behind the curtains on the stairway landing, Pierre, your husband, rushed down past you.  You are quite sure it was he?”

“Of that, monsieur, unfortunately there is no doubt.  I saw his face quite distinctly when he passed me, and when he turned round.”

“The light would be shining from behind, and would not reveal his face very closely,” suggested Crewe.

“Nevertheless, monsieur, it was quite sufficient for me to see Pierre clearly.  His head was half-turned as he ran, as though he was looking back expecting to see the judge rise up and punish him for his dreadful deed, and I saw him en silhouette, oh, most distinctly—­impossible him to mistake.  I called softly—­’Pierre!’ just like that, and he turned his face right round, and then with a cry he disappeared along the path.”