M. Beaumont le Hardi was a grave, florid, soft-voiced person, with a bald head and a comfortably-lined white waistcoat; one who sought his ends by persuasion, not force, but who had the instincts of a gentleman, and little sympathy with the peremptory methods of his more inflammable colleague.

“Oh, with all my heart, monsieur,” said Sir Charles, cordially.  “You saw, or at least know, how this has occurred.  I did not begin it, nor was I the most to blame.  But I was in the wrong, I admit.  What do you wish me to do now?”

“Give me your promise to abide by our rules,—­they may be irksome, but we think them necessary,—­and hold no further converse with your companions.”

“Certainly, certainly, monsieur,—­at least after I have said one word more to Madame la Comtesse.”

“No, no, I cannot permit even that—­”

But Sir Charles, in spite of the warning finger held up by the Judge, insisted upon crying out to her, as she was being led into the other room: 

“Courage, dear lady, courage.  Don’t let them bully you.  You have nothing to fear.”

Any further defiance of authority was now prevented by her almost forcible removal from the room.

CHAPTER VI

The stormy episode just ended had rather a disturbing effect on M. Flocon, who could scarcely give his full attention to all the points, old and new, that had now arisen in the investigation.  But he would have time to go over them at his leisure, while the work of interrogation was undertaken by the Judge.

The latter had taken his seat at a small table, and just opposite was his greffier, or clerk, who was to write down question and answer, verbatim.  A little to one side, with the light full on the face, the witness was seated, bearing the scrutiny of three pairs of eyes—­the Judge first, and behind him, those of the Chief Detective and the Commissary of Police.

“I trust, madame, that you are equal to answering a few questions?” began M. le Hardi, blandly.

“Oh, yes, I hope so.  Indeed, I have no choice,” replied the Countess, bravely resigned.

“They will refer principally to your maid.”

“Ah!” said the Countess, quickly and in a troubled voice, yet she bore the gaze of the three officials without flinching.

“I want to know a little more about her, if you please.”

“Of course.  Anything I know I will tell you.”  She spoke now with perfect self-possession.  “But if I might ask—­why this interest?”

“I will tell you frankly.  You asked for her, we sent for her, and—­”

“Yes?”

“She cannot be found.  She is not in the station.”

The Countess all but jumped from her chair in her surprise—­surprise that seemed too spontaneous to be feigned.

“Impossible! it cannot be.  She would not dare to leave me here like this, all alone.”