“Except from time to time?”

“Precisely.”

“And the last time was at Amberieux?”

“As I have told you, and he will tell you the same.”

“Thank you, madame, that will do.”  The Chief rose from his chair, plainly intimating that the interview was at an end.

CHAPTER IV

He had other work to do, and was eager to get at it.  So he left Block to show the Countess back to the waiting-room, and, motioning to the porter that he might also go, the Chief hastened to the sleeping-car, the examination of which, too long delayed, claimed his urgent attention.

It is the first duty of a good detective to visit the actual theatre of a crime and overhaul it inch by inch,—­seeking, searching, investigating, looking for any, even the most insignificant, traces of the murderer’s hands.

The sleeping-car, as I have said, had been side-tracked, its doors were sealed, and it was under strict watch and ward.  But everything, of course, gave way before the detective, and, breaking through the seals, he walked in, making straight for the little room or compartment where the body of the victim still lay untended and absolutely untouched.

It was a ghastly sight, although not new in M. Flocon’s experience.  There lay the corpse in the narrow berth, just as it had been stricken.  It was partially undressed, wearing only shirt and drawers.  The former lay open at the chest, and showed the gaping wound that had, no doubt, caused death, probably instantaneous death.  But other blows had been struck; there must have been a struggle, fierce and embittered, as for dear life.  The savage truculence of the murderer had triumphed, but not until he had battered in the face, destroying features and rendering recognition almost impossible.

A knife had given the mortal wound; that was at once apparent from the shape of the wound.  It was the knife, too, which had gashed and stabbed the face, almost wantonly; for some of these wounds had not bled, and the plain inference was that they had been inflicted after life had sped.  M. Flocon examined the body closely, but without disturbing it.  The police medical officer would wish to see it as it was found.  The exact position, as well as the nature of the wounds, might afford evidence as to the manner of death.

But the Chief looked long, and with absorbed, concentrated interest, at the murdered man, noting all he actually saw, and conjecturing a good deal more.

The features of the mutilated face were all but unrecognizable, but the hair, which was abundant, was long, black, and inclined to curl; the black moustache was thick and drooping.  The shirt was of fine linen, the drawers silk.  On one finger were two good rings, the hands were clean, the nails well kept, and there was every evidence that the man did not live by manual labour.  He was of the easy, cultured class, as distinct from the workman or operative.