Ferrand was, in fact, thoroughly frightened.  He learned that Fleur-de-Marie was in St. Lazare, and determined to paralyse Screech-Owl’s threats by removing Fleur-de-Marie.

On an island in the Seine lived a criminal family, the Martials, who throve by thieving and murder.  With Nicholas Martial, Ferrand arranged that Marie was to be conducted across the river and upset.  His housekeeper met the girl at the prison door after the notary had procured her release and, pretending she had come from Mrs. George, brought her down to the river.

Once on the shore, the old woman signalled, and two boats came from the island.  Fleur-de-Marie felt an instinctive uneasiness on beholding the foul face of Nicholas Martial.  But she seated herself in the boat with the old woman, and they shot out into the stream.

Half an hour later two gentlemen strolling along the opposite river-bank saw the body of a young girl floating by and rescued it.  One was a doctor.  Discovering signs of life, he set to work and presently a faint glow of vitality revived.  Then she was carried to his home.

That same night Screech-Owl appeared at the home of Countess Sarah, keeping an appointment.  Lady Sarah took the creature into her private room and locked the door, leaving open only the passage from the garden whence they had entered.

“Listen,” said the Countess, “I want you to find me a girl of about seventeen, one who has lost her parents very early, of agreeable face, and a sweet temper.”

Screech-Owl showed her astonishment.

“My little lady, have you forgotten La Goualeuse?”

“I have nothing to do with her,” said Lady Sarah impatiently.

“But listen a moment.  Take La Goualeuse; she was only six years old when Jacques Ferrand gave her to me, with a thousand francs, to get rid of her.”

“Jacques Ferrand!” cried Sarah, “the notary?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“Ten years ago?  Fair?  With blue eyes?

“Yes.”

“Ah, Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!” cried Sarah, falling on her knees.  Suddenly she rose.  Hastily opening a secretary, she took from it an ebony casket, which she opened.  She took from it diamond necklaces and bracelets, throwing them on the table in her hurry to reach the bottom.

“Is this she?” she cried, producing a small miniature.

“Yes.”

Sarah took out paper and pen and began writing.

“Come,” she said, “as you dictate, so I write.  A written declaration—­”

She did not finish.  Screech-Owl brought down her arm and her dagger entered Sarah’s back between the shoulder-blades.  She threw out her hands and fell forward on the table.

Hastily gathering the jewels, the murderess slipped through the door into the garden and escaped into the dark streets.