and them.  She tried to rise to her feet.  Adele Rossignol held her legs firmly.  She was powerless.  She sat with one desperate hope that, whoever it was who was in the garden, he would break in.  Were it even another murderer, he might have more pity than the callous brutes who held her now; he could have no less.  But the footsteps moved away.  It was the withdrawal of all hope.  Celia heard Wethermill behind her draw a long breath of relief.  That seemed to Celia almost the cruellest part of the whole tragedy.  They waited in the darkness until the faint click of the gate was heard once more.  Then the light was turned up again.

“We must go,” said Wethermill.  All the three of them were shaken.  They stood looking at one another, white and trembling.  They spoke in whispers.  To get out of the room, to have done with the business—­that had suddenly become their chief necessity.

Adele picked up the necklace and the rings from the satin-wood table and put them into a pocket-bag which was slung at her waist.

“Hippolyte shall turn these things into money,” she said.  “He shall set about it to-morrow.  We shall have to keep the girl now—­ until she tells us where the rest is hidden.”

“Yes, keep her,” said Helene.  “We will come over to Geneva in a few days, as soon as we can.  We will persuade her to tell.”  She glanced darkly at the girl.  Celia shivered.

“Yes, that’s it,” said Wethermill.  “But don’t harm her.  She will tell of her own will.  You will see.  The delay won’t hurt now.  We can’t come back and search for a little while.”

He was speaking in a quick, agitated voice.  And Adele agreed.  The desire to be gone had killed even their fury at the loss of their prize.  Some time they would come back, but they would not search now—­they were too unnerved.

“Helene,” said Wethermill, “get to bed.  I’ll come up with the chloroform and put you to sleep.”

Helene Vauquier hurried upstairs.  It was part of her plan that she should be left alone in the villa chloroformed.  Thus only could suspicion be averted from herself.  She did not shrink from the completion of the plan now.  She went, the strange woman, without a tremor to her ordeal.  Wethermill took the length of rope which had fixed Celia to the pillar.

“I’ll follow,” he said, and as he turned he stumbled over the body of Mme. Dauvray.  With a shrill cry he kicked it out of his way and crept up the stairs.  Adele Rossignol quickly set the room in order.  She removed the stool from its position in the recess, and carried it to its place in the hall.  She put Celia’s shoes upon her feet, loosening the cord from her ankles.  Then she looked about the floor and picked up here and there a scrap of cord.  In the silence the clock upon the mantelshelf chimed the quarter past eleven.  She screwed the stopper on the flask of vitriol very carefully, and put the flask away in her pocket.  She went into the kitchen and fetched the key of the garage.  She put her hat on her head.  She even picked up and drew on her gloves, afraid lest she should leave them behind; and then Wethermill came down again.  Adele looked at him inquiringly.