Therefore the American narrated the entire sequence of events as they related not only to Mademoiselle de Longarde’s loss but to the death of James Allerdyke and the disappearance of the Nastirsevitch valuables.  And the official heard, and made mental notes, soaking everything into some proper cell of his brain, and he said nothing until Fullaway had come to an end, and at that end he turned to Celia Lennard.

“You can, of course, describe your maid?” he asked.

“Certainly!” answered Celia.  “To every detail.”

“Do so, if you please,” continued the official, producing a pile of papers from a drawer and turning them over until he came to one which he drew from the rest.

“A Frenchwoman,” said Celia.  “Aged, I should say, about twenty-six.  Tall.  Slender—­but not thin.  Of a very good figure.  Black hair—­a quantity of it.  Black eyes—­very penetrating.  Fresh colour.  Not exactly pretty, but attractive—­in the real Parisian way—­she is a Parisian.  Dressed—­when she left me at Hull—­in a black tailor-made coat and skirt, and carrying a travelling coat of black, lined with fur—­one I gave her in Russia.”

“Her luggage?” asked the official.

“She had a suit-case:  a medium-sized one.”

“Large enough, I presume, to conceal the jewel-box your friend has told me about just now?”

“Oh, yes—­certainly!”

The official put his papers back in the drawer and turned to his visitors with a business-like look which finally settled itself on Celia’s face.

“You must be prepared to hear some serious news,” he said.  “I mean about this woman.  I have no doubt from what you have just told me that I know where she is.”

“Where?” demanded Celia excitedly.  “You know?  Where, then?”

“Lying in the mortuary at Paddington,” answered the official quietly.

In spite of Celia’s strong nerves she half rose in her seat—­only to drop back with a sharp exclamation.

“Dead!  Probably murdered.  And I should say,” continued the official, with a glance at the two men, “murdered in the same way as the gentleman you have told me of was murdered at Hull—­by some subtle, strange, and secret poison.”

No one spoke for a minute or two.  When the silence was broken it was by Allerdyke.

“I should like to know about this,” he said in a hard, keen voice.  “I’m getting about sick of delay in this affair of my cousin’s, and if this murder of the young woman is all of a piece with his, why, then, the sooner we all get to work the better.  I’m not going to spare time, labour, nor expense in running that lot down, d’you understand?  Money’s naught to me—­I’m willing—­”