“’I was right, Alphonse.  Madame has a kind heart’?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Then Mlle. Celie had spoken to you before about this visit of yours to Chambery,” said Hanaud, with his eyes fixed steadily upon the chauffeur’s face.  The distress upon Servettaz’s face increased.  Suddenly Hanaud’s voice rang sharply.  “You hesitate.  Begin at the beginning.  Speak the truth, Servettaz!”

“Monsieur, I am speaking the truth,” said the chauffeur.  “It is true I hesitate ...  I have heard this morning what people are saying ...  I do not know what to think.  Mlle. Celie was always kind and thoughtful for me ...  But it is true”—­and with a kind of desperation he went on—­“yes, it is true that it was Mlle. Celie who first suggested to me that I should ask for a day to go to Chambery.”

“When did she suggest it?”

“On the Saturday.”

To Mr. Ricardo the words were startling.  He glanced with pity towards Wethermill.  Wethermill, however, had made up his mind for good and all.  He stood with a dogged look upon his face, his chin thrust forward, his eyes upon the chauffeur.  Besnard, the Commissaire, had made up his mind, too.  He merely shrugged his shoulders.  Hanaud stepped forward and laid his hand gently on the chauffeur’s arm.

“Come, my friend,” he said, “let us hear exactly how this happened!”

“Mlle. Celie,” said Servettaz, with genuine compunction in his voice, “came to the garage on Saturday morning and ordered the car for the afternoon.  She stayed and talked to me for a little while, as she often did.  She said that she had been told that my parents lived at Chambery, and since I was so near I ought to ask for a holiday.  For it would not be kind if I did not go and see them.”

“That was all?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Very well.”  And the detective resumed at once his brisk voice and alert manner.  He seemed to dismiss Servettaz’s admission from his mind.  Ricardo had the impression of a man tying up an important document which for the moment he has done with, and putting it away ticketed in some pigeon-hole in his desk.  “Let us see the garage!”

They followed the road between the bushes until a turn showed them the garage with its doors open.

“The doors were found unlocked?”

“Just as you see them.”

Hanaud nodded.  He spoke again to Servettaz.  “What did you do with the key on Tuesday?”

“I gave it to Helene Vauquier, monsieur, after I had locked up the garage.  And she hung it on a nail in the kitchen.”

“I see,” said Hanaud.  “So any one could easily, have found it last night?”

“Yes, monsieur—­if one knew where to look for it.”

At the back of the garage a row of petrol-tins stood against the brick wall.

“Was any petrol taken?” asked Hanaud.

“Yes, monsieur; there was very little petrol in the car when I went away.  More was taken, but it was taken from the middle tins—­ these.”  And he touched the tins.