“It was impossible to fix the blame...”

“Have you used all your intelligence, I wonder?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you reflected that, since Dupont got in after you came home, his accomplice in your household is most probably one of those who were up at that hour.  Who were they?”

“Only two.  The footman, Leon...”

“You trust him?”

“Not altogether.  Now you make me think, I shall discharge him when I leave, without notice.”

“Wait.  Who else?”

“Marthe, my maid.”

“You have confidence in her loyalty?”

“Implicit.  She has been with me for years.”

Lanyard said “Open that door!” in a tone sharp with such authority that Liane Delorme instinctively obeyed, and the woman whom Lanyard had seen that morning coming down the stairs with the lighted candle entered rather precipitately, carrying over one arm an evening wrap of gold brocade and fur.

“Pardon, madame,” she murmured, and paused.  Aside from the awkwardness of her entrance, she betrayed no confusion.  “I was about to knock and ask if madame wished me to pack this...”

“You know very well I shall need it,” Liane said ominously.  A look from Lanyard checked a tirade, or more exactly compressed it into a single word:  “Imbecile!”

“Yes, madame.”

Marthe hinted at rather than executed a courtesy and withdrew.  Liane shut the door behind her, and reapproached the bed, trembling with an anger that rendered her forgetful, so that she relapsed into French.

“You think she was listening?”

“English, please!” To this Lanyard added a slight shrug..

“It is hard to believe,” Liane averred unhappily.  “After all these years...  I have been kind to that one, too!”

“Ah, well!  At least you know now she will bear watching.  You mean to take her with you?”

“I did, until this happened.  We quarrelled about it, last night.  I think she has a lover here in Paris and doesn’t want to leave him.”

“And now will you tell me that Dupont knows nothing of your intention to motor to Cherbourg today?”

“No...”  Disconsolate, Liane sank down into the chair and, resting an elbow on the arm, clipped her chin in one hand.  “Now I dare not go,” she mused aloud.  “Yet I must!...  What am I to do?”

“Courage, little sister!  It is I who have an idea.”  Liane lifted a gaze of mute enquiry.  “I think we are now agreed it rests between Marthe and the footman Leon, this treachery.”  She assented.  “Very well.  Then let them run the risks any further disloyalty may have prepared for us.”

“I do not understand...”

“What automobile are you using for our trip this afternoon?”

“My limousine for you and me.”

“And Marthe:  how is she to make the journey?”

“In the touring car, which follows us with our luggage.”

“It is fast, this touring car?”