She had asked imploringly for her maid.  True, but might that not be a blind?  Women are born actresses, and at need can assume any part, convey any impression.  Might not the Countess have wished to be dissociated from the maid, and therefore have affected complete ignorance of her flight?

“I will try her further,” said M. Flocon to himself.

But then, supposing that the maid had taken herself off of her own accord?  Why was it?  Why had she done so?  Because—­because she was afraid of something.  If so, of what?  No direct accusation could be brought against her on the face of it.  She had not been in the sleeping-car at the time of the murder, while the Countess as certainly was; and, according to strong presumption, in the very compartment where the deed was done.  If the maid was afraid, why was she afraid?

Only on one possible hypothesis.  That she was either in collusion with the Countess, or possessed of some guilty knowledge tending to incriminate the Countess and probably herself.  She had run away to avoid any inconvenient questioning tending to get her mistress into trouble, which would react probably on herself.

“We must press the Countess on this point closely; I will put it plainly to M. le Juge,” said the detective, as he entered the private room set apart for the police authorities, where he found M. Beaumont le Hardi, the instructing judge, and the Commissary of the Quartier (arrondissement).

A lengthy conference followed among the officials.  M. Flocon told all he knew, all he had discovered, gave his views with all the force and fluency of a public prosecutor, and was congratulated warmly on the progress he had made.

“I agree with you, sir,” said the instructing judge:  “we must have in the Countess first, and pursue the line indicated as regards the missing maid.”

“I will fetch her, then.  Stay, what can be going on in there?” cried M. Flocon, rising from his seat and running into the outer waiting-room, which, to his surprise and indignation, he found in great confusion.

The guard who was on duty was struggling, in personal conflict almost, with the English General.  There was a great hubbub of voices, and the Countess was lying back half-fainting in her chair.

“What’s all this?  How dare you, sir?”

This to the General, who now had the man by the throat with one hand and with the other was preventing him from drawing his sword.  “Desist—­forbear!  You are opposing legal authority; desist, or I will call in assistance and will have you secured and removed.”

The little Chief’s blood was up; he spoke warmly, with all the force and dignity of an official who sees the law outraged.

“It is entirely the fault of this ruffian of yours; he has behaved most brutally,” replied Sir Charles, still holding him tight.

“Let him go, monsieur; your behaviour is inexcusable.  What! you, a military officer of the highest rank, to assault a sentinel!  For shame!  This is unworthy of you!”