“You see it is empty, monsieur,” he said, and suddenly Wethermill moved forward into the room.

“Yes, I see that,” said Hanaud dryly.

It was a case made to hold a couple of long ear-drops—­those diamond ear-drops, doubtless, which Mr. Ricardo had seen twinkling in the garden.

“Will monsieur let me see?” asked Wethermill, and he took the case in his hands.  “Yes,” he said.  “Mlle. Celie’s ear-drops,” and he handed the case back with a thoughtful air.

It was the first time he had taken a definite part in the investigation.  To Ricardo the reason was clear.  Harry Wethermill had himself given those ear-drops to Celia.  Hanaud replaced the case and turned round.

“There is nothing more for us to see here,” he said.  “I suppose that no one has been allowed to enter the room?” And he opened the door.

“No one except Helene Vauquier,” replied the Commissaire.

Ricardo felt indignant at so obvious a piece of carelessness.  Even Wethermill looked surprised.  Hanaud merely shut the door again.

“Oho, the maid!” he said.  “Then she has recovered!”

“She is still weak,” said the Commissaire.  “But I thought it was necessary that we should obtain at once a description of what Celie Harland wore when she left the house.  I spoke to M. Fleuriot about it, and he gave me permission to bring Helene Vauquier here, who alone could tell us.  I brought her here myself just before you came.  She looked through the girl’s wardrobe to see what was missing.”

“Was she alone in the room?”

“Not for a moment,” said M. Besnard haughtily.  “Really, monsieur, we are not so ignorant of how an affair of this kind should be conducted.  I was in the room myself the whole time, with my eye upon her.”

“That was just before I came,” said Hanaud.  He crossed carelessly to the open window which overlooked the road and, leaning out of it, looked up the road to the corner round which he and his friends had come, precisely as the Commissaire had done.  Then he turned back into the room.

“Which was the last cupboard or drawer that Helene Vauquier touched?” he asked.

“This one.”

Besnard stooped and pulled open the bottom drawer of a chest which stood in the embrasure of the window.  A light-coloured dress was lying at the bottom.

“I told her to be quick,” said Besnard, “since I had seen that you were coming.  She lifted this dress out and said that nothing was missing there.  So I took her back to her room and left her with the nurse.”

Hanaud lifted the light dress from the drawer, shook it out in front of the window, twirled it round, snatched up a corner of it and held it to his eyes, and then, folding it quickly, replaced it in the drawer.