“There is more here, much more, and something like—­yes, beyond question it is—­the print of two hands upon the roof.  It was here she climbed.”

“No doubt.  I can see it now exactly.  She would sit on the window ledge, the lower limbs inside the car here and held there.  Then with her hands she would draw herself up to the roof,” said the Judge.

“But what nerve! what strength of arm!”

“It was life and death.  Within the car was more terrible danger.  Fear will do much in such a case.  We all know that.  Well! what more?”

By this time the detective had stepped on to the roof of the car.

“More, more, much more!  Footprints, as plain as a picture.  A woman’s feet.  Wait, let me follow them to the end,” said he, cautiously creeping forward to the end of the car.

A minute or two more, and he rejoined his colleagues on the ground level, and, rubbing his hands, declared joyously that it was all perfectly clear.

“Dangerous or not, difficult or not, she did it.  I have traced her; have seen where she must have lain crouching ever so long, followed her all along the top of the car, to the end where she got down above the little platform exit.  Beyond doubt she left the car when it stopped, and by arrangement with her confederate.”

“The Countess?”

“Who else?”

“And at a point near Paris.  The English General said the halt was within twenty minutes’ run of the station.”

“Then it is from that point we must commence our search for her.  The Italian has gone on the wrong scent.”

“Not necessarily.  The maid, we may be sure, will try to communicate with her mistress.”

“Still, it would be well to secure her before she can do that,” said the Judge.  “With all we know now, a sharp interrogation might extract some very damaging admissions from her,” went on the detective, eagerly.  “Who is to go?  I have sent away both my assistants.  Of course I can telephone for another man, or I might go myself.”

“No, no, dear colleague, we cannot spare you just yet.  Telephone by all means.  I presume you would wish to be present at the rest of the interrogatories?”

“Certainly, you are right.  We may elicit more about this maid.  Let us call in the porter now.  He is said to have had relations with her.  Something more may be got out of him.”

The more did not amount to much.  Groote, the porter, came in, cringing and wretched, in the abject state of a man who has lately been drugged and is now slowly recovering.  Although sharply questioned, he had nothing to add to his first story.

“Speak out,” said the Judge, harshly.  “Tell us everything plainly and promptly, or I shall send you straight to gaol.  The order is already made out;” and as he spoke, he waved a flimsy bit of paper before him.

“I know nothing,” the porter protested, piteously.

“That is false.  We are fully informed and no fools.  We are certain that no such catastrophe could have occurred without your knowledge or connivance.”