But Helene Vauquier’s wish prevailed.  She was the leader.  They would keep the girl until she came to Geneva.

They took her upstairs into the big bedroom overlooking the lake.  Adele opened the door of the closet, where a truckle-bed stood, and thrust the girl in.

“This is my room,” she said warningly, pointing to the bedroom.  “Take care I hear no noise.  You might shout yourself hoarse, my pretty one; no one else would hear you.  But I should, and afterwards—­we should no longer be able to call you ’my pretty one,’ eh?”

And with a horrible playfulness she pinched the girl’s cheek.

Then with old Jeanne’s help she stripped Celia and told her to get into bed.

“I’ll give her something to keep her quiet,” said Adele, and she fetched her morphia-needle and injected a dose into Celia’s arm.

Then they took her clothes away and left her in the darkness.  She heard the key turn in the lock, and a moment after the sound of the bedstead being drawn across the doorway.  But she heard no more, for almost immediately she fell asleep.

She was awakened some time the next day by the door opening.  Old Jeanne Tace brought her in a jug of water and a roll of bread, and locked her up again.  And a long time afterwards she brought her another supply.  Yet another day had gone, but in that dark cupboard Celia had no means of judging time.  In the afternoon the newspaper came out with the announcement that Mme. Dauvray’s jewellery had been discovered under the boards.  Hippolyte brought in the newspaper, and, cursing their stupidity, they sat down to decide upon Celia’s fate.  That, however, was soon arranged.  They would dress her in everything which she wore when she came, so that no trace of her might be discovered.  They would give her another dose of morphia, sew her up in a sack as soon as she was unconscious, row her far out on to the lake, and sink her with a weight attached.  They dragged her out from the cupboard, always with the threat of that bright aluminium flask before her eyes.  She fell upon her knees, imploring their pity with the tears running down her cheeks; but they sewed the strip of sacking over her face so that she should see nothing of their preparations.  They flung her on the sofa, secured her as Hanaud had found her, and, leaving her in the old woman’s charge, sent down Adele for her needle and Hippolyte to get ready the boat.  As Hippolyte opened the door he saw the launch of the Chef de la Surete glide along the bank.

CHAPTER XXI

HANAUD EXPLAINS

This is the story as Mr. Ricardo wrote it out from the statement of Celia herself and the confession of Adele Rossignol.  Obscurities which had puzzled him were made clear.  But he was still unaware how Hanaud had worked out the solution.

“You promised me that you would explain,” he said, when they were both together after the trial was over at Aix.  The two men had just finished luncheon at the Cercle and were sitting over their coffee.  Hanaud lighted a cigar.