"Tell me, what is this?" he said to Ricardo.
"It is a green fabric," said Ricardo very wisely.
"It is green chiffon," said Hanaud. "And the frock in which Mlle.
Celie went away was of green chiffon over satin. Yes, Mlle. Celie
travelled in this car."
He hurried to the driver's seat. Upon the floor there was some
dark mould. Hanaud cleaned it off with his knife and held some of
it in the palm of his hand. He turned to Servettaz.
"You drove the car on Tuesday morning before you went to
Chambery?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Where did you take up Mme. Dauvray and Mlle. Celie?"
"At the front door of the Villa Rose."
"Did you get down from the seat at all?"
"No, monsieur; not after I left the garage."
Hanaud returned to his companions.
"See!" And he opened his hand. "This is black soil--moist from
last night's rain--soil like the soil in front of Mme. Dauvray's
salon. Look, here is even a blade or two of the grass"; and he
turned the mould over in the palm of his hand. Then he took an
empty envelope from his pocket and poured the soil into it and
gummed the flap down. He stood and frowned at the motor-car.
"Listen," he said, "how I am puzzled! There was a man last night
at the Villa Rose. There were a man's blurred footmarks in the
mould before the glass door. That man drove madame's car for a
hundred and fifty kilometers, and he leaves the mould which clung
to his boots upon the floor of his seat. Mlle. Celie and another
woman drove away inside the car. Mlle. Celie leaves a fragment of
the chiffon tunic of her frock which caught in the hinge. But
Mlle. Celie made much clearer impressions in the mould than the
man. Yet on the floor of the carriage there is no trace of her
shoes. Again I say there is something here which I do not
understand." And he spread out his hands with an impulsive gesture
of despair "It looks as if they had been careful and he careless," said Mr.
Ricardo, with the air of a man solving a very difficult problem.
"What a mind!" cried Hanaud, now clasping his hands together in
admiration. "How quick and how profound!"
There was at times something elphantinely elfish in M. Hanaud's
demeanour, which left Mr. Ricardo at a loss. But he had come to
notice that these undignified manifestations usually took place
when Hanaud had reached a definite opinion upon some point which
had perplexed him.
"Yet there is perhaps, another explanation," Hanaud continued.
"For observe, M. Ricardo. We have other evidence to show that the
careless one was Mlle. Celie. It was she who left her footsteps so
plainly visible upon the grass, not the man. However, we will go
back to M. Wethermill's room at the Hotel Majestic and talk this
matter over. We know something now. Yes, we know--what do we know,
monsieur?" he asked, suddenly turning with a smile to Ricardo,
and, as Ricardo paused: "Think it over while we walk down to M.
Wethermill's apartment in the Hotel Majestic."