The Count shrugged his huge shoulders, and smiled on Laura in the friendliest manner.

“Most true!” he said.  “The fool’s crime is the crime that is found out, and the wise man’s crime is the crime that is not found out.  If I could give you an instance, it would not be the instance of a wise man.  Dear Lady Glyde, your sound English common sense has been too much for me.  It is checkmate for me this time, Miss Halcombe—­ha?”

“Stand to your guns, Laura,” sneered Sir Percival, who had been listening in his place at the door.  “Tell him next, that crimes cause their own detection.  There’s another bit of copy-book morality for you, Fosco.  Crimes cause their own detection.  What infernal humbug!”

“I believe it to be true,” said Laura quietly.

Sir Percival burst out laughing, so violently, so outrageously, that he quite startled us all—­the Count more than any of us.

“I believe it too,” I said, coming to Laura’s rescue.

Sir Percival, who had been unaccountably amused at his wife’s remark, was just as unaccountably irritated by mine.  He struck the new stick savagely on the sand, and walked away from us.

“Poor dear Percival!” cried Count Fosco, looking after him gaily, “he is the victim of English spleen.  But, my dear Miss Halcombe, my dear Lady Glyde, do you really believe that crimes cause their own detection?  And you, my angel,” he continued, turning to his wife, who had not uttered a word yet, “do you think so too?”

“I wait to be instructed,” replied the Countess, in tones of freezing reproof, intended for Laura and me, “before I venture on giving my opinion in the presence of well-informed men.”

“Do you, indeed?” I said.  “I remember the time, Countess, when you advocated the Rights of Women, and freedom of female opinion was one of them.”

“What is your view of the subject, Count?” asked Madame Fosco, calmly proceeding with her cigarettes, and not taking the least notice of me.

The Count stroked one of his white mice reflectively with his chubby little finger before he answered.

“It is truly wonderful,” he said, “how easily Society can console itself for the worst of its shortcomings with a little bit of clap-trap.  The machinery it has set up for the detection of crime is miserably ineffective—­and yet only invent a moral epigram, saying that it works well, and you blind everybody to its blunders from that moment.  Crimes cause their own detection, do they?  And murder will out (another moral epigram), will it?  Ask Coroners who sit at inquests in large towns if that is true, Lady Glyde.  Ask secretaries of life-assurance companies if that is true, Miss Halcombe.  Read your own public journals.  In the few cases that get into the newspapers, are there not instances of slain bodies found, and no murderers ever discovered?  Multiply the cases that are reported by the cases that are not reported, and the bodies that are