“Well, after mademoiselle had been with us three weeks, she said to me one morning when I was dressing her hair that it was a pity madame was always running round the fortune-tellers, that she herself could do something much more striking and impressive, and that if only I would help her we could rescue madame from their clutches.  Sir, I did not think what power I was putting into Mlle. Celie’s hands, or assuredly I would have refused.  And I did not wish to quarrel with Mlle. Celie; so for once I consented, and, having once consented, I could never afterwards refuse, for, if I had, mademoiselle would have made some fine excuse about the psychic influence not being en rapport, and meanwhile would have had me sent away.  While if I had confessed the truth to madame, she would have been so angry that I had been a party to tricking her that again I would have lost my place.  And so the seances went on.”

“Yes,” said Hanaud.  “I understand that your position was very difficult.  We shall not, I think,” and he turned to the Commissaire confidently for corroboration of his words, “be disposed to blame you.”

“Certainly not,” said the Commissaire.  “After all, life is not so easy.”

“Thus, then, the seances began,” said Hanaud, leaning forward with a keen interest.  “This is a strange and curious story you are telling me, Mlle. Vauquier.  Now, how were they conducted?  How did you assist?  What did Mlle. Celie do?  Rap on the tables in the dark and rattle tambourines like that one with the knot of ribbons which hangs upon the wall of the salon?”

There was a gentle and inviting irony in Hanaud’s tone.  M. Ricardo was disappointed.  Hanaud had after all not overlooked the tambourine.  Without Ricardo’s reason to notice it, he had none the less observed it and borne it in his memory.

“Well?” he asked.

“Oh, monsieur, the tambourines and the rapping on the table!” cried Helene.  “That was nothing—­oh, but nothing at all.  Mademoiselle Celie would make spirits appear and speak!”

“Really!  And she was never caught out!  But Mlle. Celie must have been a remarkably clever girl.”

“Oh, she was of an address which was surprising.  Sometimes madame and I were alone.  Sometimes there were others, whom madame in her pride had invited.  For she was very proud, monsieur, that her companion could introduce her to the spirits of dead people.  But never was Mlle. Celie caught out.  She told me that for many years, even when quite a child, she had travelled through England giving these exhibitions.”

“Oho!” said Hanaud, and he turned to Wethermill.  “Did you know that?” he asked in English.

“I did not,” he said.  “I do not now.”

Hanaud shook his head.

“To me this story does not seem invented,” he replied.  And then he spoke again in French to Helene Vauquier.  “Well, continue, mademoiselle!  Assume that the company is assembled for our seance.”