“The maid addressed her by that title.  That is all I know.  I heard her.”

“When did you see the lady’s maid last?”

“Last night.  I think at Amberieux. about 8 p.m.”

“Not this morning?”

“No, sir, I am quite sure of that.”

“Not at Laroche?  She did not come on board to stay, for the last stage, when her mistress would be getting up, dressing, and likely to require her?”

“No; I should not have permitted it.”

“And where is the maid now, d’you suppose?”

The porter looked at him with an air of complete imbecility.

“She is surely somewhere near, in or about the station.  She would hardly desert her mistress now,” he said, stupidly, at last.

“At any rate we can soon settle that.”  The Chief turned to one of his assistants, both of whom had been standing behind him all the time, and said: 

“Step out, Galipaud, and see.  No, wait.  I am nearly as stupid as this simpleton.  Describe this maid.”

“Tall and slight, dark-eyed, very black hair.  Dressed all in black, plain black bonnet.  I cannot remember more.”

“Find her, Galipaud—­keep your eye on her.  We may want her—­why, I cannot say, as she seems disconnected with the event, but still she ought to be at hand.”  Then, turning to the porter, he went on.  “Finish, please.  You said 9 and 10 was the lady’s.  Well, 11 and 12?”

“It was vacant all through the run.”

“And the last compartment, for four?”

“There were two berths, occupied both by Frenchmen, at least so I judged them.  They talked French to each other and to me.”

“Then now we have them all.  Stand aside, please, and I will make the passengers come in.  We will then determine their places and affix their names from their own admissions.  Call them in, Block, one by one.”

CHAPTER III

The questions put by M. Flocon were much the same in every case, and were limited in this early stage of the inquiry to the one point of identity.

The first who entered was a Frenchman.  He was a jovial, fat-faced, portly man, who answered to the name of Anatole Lafolay, and who described himself as a traveller in precious stones.  The berth he had occupied was No. 13 in compartment f.  His companion in the berth was a younger man, smaller, slighter, but of much the same stamp.  His name was Jules Devaux, and he was a commission agent.  His berth had been No. 15 in the same compartment, f.  Both these Frenchmen gave their addresses with the names of many people to whom they were well known, and established at once a reputation for respectability which was greatly in their favour.

The third to appear was the tall, gray-headed Englishman, who had taken a certain lead at the first discovery of the crime.  He called himself General Sir Charles Collingham, an officer of her Majesty’s army; and the clergyman who shared the compartment was his brother, the Reverend Silas Collingham, rector of Theakstone-Lammas, in the county of Norfolk.  Their berths were numbered 1 and 4 in a.