Even Gwen, I think, noticed Browne’s determined silence, for she said to Maitland: 

“I am very grateful that your forethought prevented me from causing Mr. Browne even temporary annoyance by making him my messenger.”

She paused a moment and then continued: 

“You were speaking of the officers’ theories.  When they have convinced themselves that no one of us has removed the weapon, what then?”

“In my opinion,” said Maitland, “they will ultimately fall back upon the suicide theory, but they must find the weapon here before they can substantiate it; for if it be not here someone must have taken it away and that someone could have only been the one who used it —­the assassin, in short—­but here are the officers.  Let each one of us insist upon being searched.  They can send to the station for a woman to search you,” he said in an undertone to Gwen and then added:  “I trust you will pardon my suggesting a course which, in your case, seems so utterly unnecessary, but, believe me, there are urgent reasons for it which I can explain later.  If we would hope to solve this mystery, everything depends upon absolute thoroughness at this juncture.”

“I should evince but poor appreciation,” Gwen replied, “of the ability you have already shown should I fail to follow your slightest suggestion.  It is all I can offer you by way of thanks for the kind interest you have taken.”

The return of Officer Barker, accompanied by three other men, now changed the tide of conversation.  Maitland advanced and shook hands with one whom he introduced as Mr. Osborne, and this gentleman in turn introduced his brother officer, a Mr. Allen, and M. Godin, a special detective.

Osborne impressed me as a man of only mediocre ability, thoroughly imbued with the idea that he is exceptionally clever.  He spoke loudly and, I thought, a bit ostentatiously, yet withal in a manner so frank and hearty that I could not help liking the fellow.

M. Godin, on the contrary, seemed retiring almost to the point of self-abnegation.  He said but little, apparently preferring to keep in the background, where he could record his own observations in his note-book without too frequent interruption.  His manner was polished in the extreme, and so frank withal that he seemed to me like a man of glass through whom every thought shone unhindered.  I wondered how one who seemed powerless to conceal his own emotions should possess a detective’s ability to thread his way through the dark and hidden duplicity of crime.  When he spoke it was in a low, velvety, and soothing voice, that fell upon the ear with an irresistible charm.  When Osborne would make some thoughtless remark fraught with bitterness for Gwen, such an expression of pain would flit across M. Godin’s fine face as one occasionally sees in those highly organised and sympathetic natures,—–­usually found among women if a doctor’s experience may be trusted,—­which catch the throb of another’s hurt, even as adjacent strings strive to sing each other’s songs.