She sank back exhausted in her chair and wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.  The sweat stood upon it in beads.

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” said Hanaud gravely.  “This has been a trying ordeal for you.  I understand that.  But we are coming to the end.  I want you to read this description of Mlle. Celie through again to make sure that nothing is omitted.”  He gave the paper into the maid’s hands.  “It will be advertised, so it is important that it should be complete.  See that you have left out nothing.”

Helene Vauquier bent her head over the paper.

“No,” said Helene at last.  “I do not think I have omitted anything.”  And she handed the paper back.

“I asked you,” Hanaud continued suavely, “because I understand that Mlle. Celie usually wore a pair of diamond ear-drops, and they are not mentioned here.”

A faint colour came into the maid’s face.

“That is true, monsieur.  I had forgotten.  It is quite true.”

“Any one might forget,” said Hanaud, with a reassuring smile.  “But you will remember now.  Think! think!  Did Mlle. Celie wear them last night?” He leaned forward, waiting for her reply.  Wethermill too, made a movement.  Both men evidently thought the point of great importance.  The maid looked at Hanaud for a few moments without speaking.

“It is not from me, mademoiselle, that you will get the answer,” said Hanaud quietly.

“No, monsieur.  I was thinking,” said the maid, her face flushing at the rebuke.

“Did she wear them when she went down the stairs last night?” he insisted.

“I think she wore them,” she said doubtfully.  Ye-es—­yes,” and the words came now firm and clear.  “I remember well.  Mlle. Celie had taken them off before her bath, and they lay on the dressing-table.  She put them into her ears while I dressed her hair and arranged the bow of ribbon in it.”

“Then we will add the earrings to your description,” said Hanaud, as he rose from his chair with the paper in his hand, “and for the moment we need not trouble you any more about Mademoiselle Celie.”  He folded the paper up, slipped it into his letter-case, and put it away in his pocket.  “Let us consider that poor Madame Dauvray!  Did she keep much money in the house?”

“No, monsieur; very little.  She was well known in Aix and her cheques were everywhere accepted without question.  It was a high pleasure to serve madame, her credit was so good,” said Helene Vauquier, raising her head as though she herself had a share in the pride of that good credit.

“No doubt,” Hanaud agreed.  “There are many fine households where the banking account is overdrawn, and it cannot be pleasant for the servants.”

“They are put to so many shifts to hide it from the servants of their neighbours,” said Helene.  “Besides,” and she made a little grimace of contempt, “a fine household and an overdrawn banking account—­it is like a ragged petticoat under a satin dress.  That was never the case with Madame Dauvray.”