“It is a remarkable affair, in every way,” he said.  “The woman was leading a perfectly respectable married life; she was hard-working and industrious, and beyond the fact that she was over-indulgent to her children, does not seem to have had any serious faults.  As far as I can ascertain she had no enemies.”

“Nor secret lovers?” M. Hersant asked.

“No; she was quite straight.”

“And you feel sure she was murdered?”

“I do.  Public opinion so strongly favours that view.”

“Did you see the marks on the woman?”

“I did, and could make nothing of them.  After supper I will take you to see her, in the morgue.”

“What—­she is still unburied?”

“Yes—­but there is nothing unusual about that.  In these parts bodies are often kept for ten days—­sometimes even longer.”

M. Durant was as good as his word; after they had partaken of a somewhat hasty meal, they set out to the morgue, where they made a careful inspection of the poor woman’s remains.

M. Hersant examined the marks on the woman’s body very closely with his magnifying-glass.

“Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed, bending down and almost touching the corpse with his nose, “Ah!”

“Have you made a discovery?” M. Durant enquired.

“I prefer not to say at present,” M. Hersant replied.  “I should like to see the spot where this body was found—­now.”

“We will go there at once,” M. Durant rejoined.

The scene of the tragedy was the Orenburg road, at the foot of two little hills; and on either side were the sloping fields, yellow with the nodding corn.

“That is the exact place where she lay,” M. Durant said, indicating with his finger a dark patch on a little wooden bridge spanning a stream, within a stone’s throw of a tumbledown mill-house, all overgrown with ivy and lichens.  M. Hersant looked round and sniffed the air with his nostrils.

“There is an air of loneliness about this spot,” he remarked, “that in itself suggests crime.  If this were an ordinary murder, one could well imagine the assassin was aided in his diabolical work by the configuration of the land which, shelving as it does, slips down into the narrow valley, so as to preclude any possibility of escape on the part of the victim.  The place seems especially designed by Providence as a death-trap.  Let us have a look at the interior of this building.”

“The police have searched it thoroughly,” M. Durant said.

“I’ve no doubt,” M. Hersant replied drily.  “No one knows better than I what the thoroughness of the police means.”

They entered the premises cautiously, since the roof was in a rickety condition, and any slight concussion might dislodge an avalanche of stones and plaster.  While M. Durant stood glancing round him rather impatiently, M. Hersant made a careful scrutiny of the walls.

“Humph,” he said at last.  “As you so rightly observed, Henri, this is a remarkable case.  I have finished my investigation for to-night.  Let us be going home.  To-morrow I should like to visit Marthe’s home.”