"Gone! What do you mean? How could she get away?"

"That's what we don't know, sir. We——"

"Who is we?" demanded Roger sharply.

"I mean Aline, sir; it was she who found it out. I've been about the house the whole night, sir; I've never closed my eyes. No one could have got past me without my knowing it."

Roger glanced at the bed. Esther still slept, the rings around her eyes darker than ever in the cold morning light.

"Come outside," he said in a lower tone. "We mustn't disturb Miss
Rowe. Now tell me."

"It's just as I say, sir. It seems she had told Aline to bring her some tea at six o'clock. I couldn't say what she had in mind to be wanting it so early; it seems as if she was planning to go out before anyone was up, but I don't know, sir. Anyhow, when Aline did bring the tea a moment ago, the room was empty; the bed hadn't been touched."

"You've searched the house?"

"Only partly, sir."

"What about the back stairs?"

"I don't think she could have come out of her room at all, sir, without my knowing; and in any case last night I locked the tradesmen's door and put the key in my pocket."

Roger rapidly reconnoitred.

"Stay here till I call my aunt," he ordered. "Whatever you do, don't stir from this spot. I am afraid to leave Miss Rowe alone for a single moment."

In a few minutes he returned with Miss Clifford, whom he had found wide awake, on the point of donning her dressing-gown to come and relieve him. He told her nothing about ThÉrÈse's disappearance, merely cautioning her strongly against leaving Esther unguarded.

"You must grasp this fact, Dido," he said gravely, looking her straight in the eyes. "Esther is no more out of her mind than you or I. There is something very serious behind this, and that man Sartorius is a terrible menace to her safety. I can't explain now, but you'll know it all soon enough."

He left her bewildered and shaken, and rejoined the butler in the hall. Outside the boudoir door stood Aline, her brows drawn together under her ragged fringe of hair, her thin lips set in a line that betokened anxiety.

"Monsieur, monsieur," she exclaimed accusingly, "dites moi, qu'est-ce que vous avez fait?"

"Je n'ai rien fait, Aline," he replied coldly; "je ne sais rien."

She gazed at him in a puzzled fashion. For all her habitual crafty appearance, he felt sure she had no knowledge of this dreadful business. In her way she had a certain loyalty to her mistress which might readily dispose her to regard him as an enemy.

"Moi non plus, monsieur," she said with hesitation. "Mais vous savez, hier soir Madame a ÉtÉ tellement fachÉe contre Monsieur que je croyais…"

"Ça ne fait rien," he interrupted, striding past her impatiently.

With the muddled feeling of sleep still upon him he unlocked his own door and went through to the bathroom, where he hastily washed his face in cold water. Then as he dried it with a bath-towel he took a quick survey of the room. All was exactly as he had left it the night before: the full-length casement window stood half open, as it usually did; the bottle of Evian was on the shelf where he had placed it. That at any rate was still safe, he reflected. ThÉrÈse had not been able to get at it, thanks to his precautions.

As he quitted the room, relocking the door, Chalmers approached him and spoke in a whisper.

"Do you think it's all right, sir?" he inquired. "She's gone to ask the doctor if he knows anything about her ladyship."

Following the direction of the old man's eyes, Roger saw the black-clad figure of the maid at the first door along the passage. Her voice, high-pitched with excitement, reached his ears, mingled with the doctor's heavy tones.

"Let her alone; it can't do any harm. You are still sure he didn't communicate with her ladyship at all?"

"Positive, sir. I'm sure he's never stirred from his room."

"We'd better make quite sure she's not in the house somewhere," said
Roger slowly. "And then if we don't find her——"

"What then, sir?"

"Then I think there is nothing for me to do but communicate with the police."

"I see, sir. Then you've talked to Miss Rowe, sir?"

"Yes, Chalmers. I have heard more than enough."

As he spoke he realised suddenly that they were now plunged into the midst of a revolting sensation. In a few hours the newspapers would blazon it to the world, and all Cannes, all France, perhaps, would be searching for the beautiful Lady Clifford, wanted on the charge of murdering her husband.

"Aline," he said as the woman came towards him, "what was Madame wearing? Have you thought to look?"

"Ah, non, monsieur, mais tenez! Je vous dirai toute de suite."

She hurried into ThÉrÈse's room and returned almost at once with a face still more perplexed. There was nothing missing from Madame's wearing apparel, as far as she could see, except the black chiffon gown Madame wore last evening. Madame had not undressed at eleven o'clock, when she desired to be left alone.

"Do you mean to say there is no coat gone? No wrap of any kind, nor a hat?"

"Monsieur peut regarder. C'est comme je dis."

The three exchanged puzzled glances.

"She may be in the house," hazarded Roger at last. "We had better find out."

In a few minutes they had made a tour of the entire villa. Roger himself tried the fastenings of all the windows on the ground-floor, and the doors leading onto the terrace from the salon. All was secure. There remained only the doctor's room, and Aline, who had been inside it a moment ago, was prepared to swear her ladyship was not there.

Roger shot a speculative glance at the maid. Was it possible she was lying? Was this all part of some scheme on ThÉrÈse's part to allow her time to get away? Had Aline connived at her escape? The suspicion took root. They were now at the top of the house, where there were only servants' quarters and box-rooms. Two flights of stairs lay between them and the front door. What if the woman had led them hither in order to leave the lower regions unguarded?

"Listen, sir! Was that a car starting?"

All stood still, attentive to the sound below. Then with a sudden idea Roger strode to the small oval window in the mansard roof, and tried to see down into the garden. Far below an engine whirred, tires grated on the drive. He caught sight of a car just disappearing out of the gateway.

"By God, Chalmers, they've gone! They've made off together."

"Was it the doctor's car, sir? I thought I knew the sound."

There was no good being upset about it, Roger reflected; certainly he could not detain the two unless he had a warrant for their arrest. Yet he experienced a feeling of chagrin at being so easily outwitted. The doctor's room, seen in disorder through the open door when they descended the stairs, told a story of a hasty departure.

"She was probably hiding in his room all the time," Roger remarked grimly as he eyed the untidy bed. "They've gone off somewhere together, though I'm astonished that they'd be so stupid. It's a damaging admission, or might be regarded in that light."

"For the life of me, I can't think how she got out of her room without my seeing her, sir," the old man commented with a rueful shake of the head.

"Well, there it is, and I believe this woman's been fooling us all along."

"Do you think their idea is to try to escape, sir?"

"Oh, I hardly think so! It is far more likely they are on their way to the police with some concocted story against Miss Rowe and against me. They will arrange it together, thinking to have the advantage of denouncing me before I can denounce them."

He became, aware that the sharp, black eyes of Aline were fixed on his face curiously. He wondered how much English she understood.

"It would have been difficult to prevent their leaving the house in any case," he added slowly. "But I believe I can circumvent them in another way. I have a plan of action, Chalmers. I am going first to a chemist Miss Rowe has told me about, and after that I intend to make a statement at police headquarters. You might get me the telephone book and a cup of coffee while I change my clothes."

As he spoke a subdued but pathetic whine reached their ears. It came from ThÉrÈse's little Aberdeen terrier, who stood in the boudoir door, looking up with eyes of patient inquiry and uttering continuous plaints.

"Il pleurs tout le temps," murmured Aline. "Ah, Tony, Tony, qu'est-ce que tu as? Ah, le pauvre!"

"Come, Tony, old boy," called Roger, stooping to stroke the dog for a moment. "What's the matter? Put him outdoors, Chalmers; perhaps he only wants to go out."

The butler obeyed, and Roger entered his room to change his attire. His mind was heavily oppressed with the ordeal that lay before him, yet he was keyed up with a strange excitement. He felt there must now be no delay in the matter of laying a formal charge against the woman who for six years had been his father's wife and also against a highly respected member of the medical profession. That he would encounter a terrific opposition he did not question for a moment. He was not in the least sure that his case would be plain sailing. He saw himself, his aunt, Chalmers, and, last and hardest to contemplate, Esther in the witness-box—Esther, whose nerves were temporarily shattered by her frightful experience…. Had ThÉrÈse been a party to the attempt on her life? Whether she had or not, she must have known about it and condoned it.

Outside in the garden the wretched dog continued to howl. What possessed the poor little creature? In the stillness of the early morning the long-drawn, disconsolate sounds rose and tell with a dirge-like hint of desolation. He must be silenced somehow; he would disturb Esther.

Presently the howling ceased, and a second later Chalmers came up bringing rolls and coffee, the dog at his heels, shivering and whining.

"I can't make out what's wrong with him, sir; he's regularly upset. He wanted to come in, yet when I opened the door he stood there looking as if he had something on his mind. Try to eat a bit, sir; you've been a long time without proper food, and you've a hard day ahead of you."

Roger forced himself to drink a cup of coffee. It was true he had given no thought to himself for days. He gazed unseeingly out of the window at the acacias, glistening with the wet of last night's steady rain, gloomy under the still grey sky. Oppression lay heavy upon his spirit.

"Yes, Chalmers, there's a bad time ahead of us. If we don't look sharp those two will find a way out."

"You think there's a chance of them escaping, sir?"

"Not that. I mean they may manage to be acquitted."

He put his hand absently on the rough black head of the Aberdeen, who had cowered close to his leg, still faintly whimpering.

"Will they exhume Sir Charles's body, sir, do you think?"

"What would be the use? There would be nothing gained by that. My father died of a well-known disease; as far as anyone could tell it was a perfectly natural death. So would I have died a so-called natural death if the doctor had succeeded in his plan against me. That was the infernal cleverness of his scheme. Of course in the case of Miss Rowe's detention it is a different matter, but even there we may not be able to prove anything conclusive. We are up against an extraordinarily clever man. Still, I don't yet know the extent of our evidence against him; it may be very strong indeed. That's what I've got to find out."

"And all for the sake of your poor father's money, sir—which she'd have got in a few years' time anyhow!"

Roger was silent, knowing better than Chalmers, perhaps, the reason why ThÉrÈse was not willing to wait for his father to die. He put on the light overcoat the butler held ready for him, thinking he would take one look at Esther before setting out. It was still very early; the life of the house had not yet begun. He knew that he would not find the chemist's shop open, and it might be several hours before he could accomplish much, but his restless state would not permit him to remain inactive.

As he left his room followed by Chalmers, a loud ringing and knocking at the front door caused them both to start and look at each other, recalling the dramatic entry of the police the night before. What could it be this time, and at this early hour?

"That will be a telegram, sir, I should say, though they don't generally make such a row, especially this time of day. I'll just see."

The clamour continued without ceasing. Roger let the old servant precede him down the stairs and saw him draw back the bolts of the door, muttering, "All right, all right—what's all the fuss about?"

On the threshold stood the excited figure of a telegraphic messenger, holding in his hand a dÉpÊche which he did not trouble to deliver. Instead he burst out at once in a harsh, strained voice:

"Monsieur! Monsieur! On n'a pas su—on n'a pas regardÉ dehors—lÀ-bas——"

"Comment?" demanded Roger, frowning. "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

"Un accident, monsieur. Regardez donc!"

With a tense forefinger he pointed over the low stone balustrade at the right-hand side of the steps. Both men leaned over to look. What at first appeared to be a sodden, black rag, beaten by the rain, lay upon the ground close to the wall of the house. What was it? It was half-hidden by a rose-bush…. Someone pushed rudely past Roger, thrusting him aside. It was Aline.

"Chalmers, what is it? It can't be—— My God it is; it's …"

An ear-splitting shriek rent the air as Aline made the same discovery.
Scream followed scream as the woman beat her hands together, crying:

"Ah, nom d'un nom! C'est Madame, c'est Madame!"

It was indeed Lady Clifford. The body, clad in the black chiffon frock soaked by the rain, lay crumpled up in the angle of the steps. The face was hidden under the bush, but the hands were visible, flecked with mud, their short fingers curved rigidly inward like talons, grasping, clutching at the air. All around lay glittering fragments of broken glass. What did it mean?

"Quiet that woman, someone—Chalmers, see to her," Roger cried, vaulting over the balustrade.

He knelt and pushed aside the sheltering branches of the rose-bush so as to reveal the head and face, the messenger bending close to him, breathing heavily. The grey eyes were stretched wide with a stare of terror, the mouth hung open. On the temple over the right eyebrow gaped a deep wound from which a vast quantity of blood had poured, down the side of the face and neck and shoulder, where it now stuck clotted and dark. There was no doubt whatever that life was extinct. She had probably been dead for several hours. All the clothing was sopping with water and beaten into the soil.

"Do you think it's suicide, sir?" asked Chalmers in a low voice.

Roger shook his head without replying. Certain odd details now became apparent. Tiny red scratches marred the skin in two or three places, giving a scarred appearance. Broken twigs on the rose-bush told their story also, but it was not at these that Roger looked so fixedly.

"Qu'est-ce qu'elle porte autour de son cou?" whispered the messenger in a curious but awed voice.

Carefully Roger lifted a mauve, mudstained wet scarf, the two ends of which were knotted about the throat. Some object was fastened securely to the middle of the strip of silk, tied by a ribbon. He examined it wonderingly. It was the broken, jagged neck of a bottle.