Ricardo felt his conscience rather heavy within him, for he had
come out to Geneva with the fixed intention of arresting her as a
most dangerous criminal. Even now he could not understand how she
could be innocent of a share in Mme. Dauvray's murder. But Hanaud
evidently thought she was. And since Hanaud thought so, why, it
was better to say nothing if one was sensitive to gibes. So
Ricardo sat and talked with her while Hanaud ran back into the
restaurant. It mattered very little, however, what he said, for
Celia's eyes were fixed upon the doorway through which Hanaud had
disappeared. And when he came back she was quick to turn the
handle of the door.
"Now, mademoiselle, we will wrap you up in M. Ricardo's spare
motor-coat and cover your knees with a rug and put you between us,
and then you can go to sleep."
The car sped through the streets of Geneva. Celia Harland, with a
little sigh of relief, nestled down between the two men.
"If I knew you better," she said to Hanaud, "I should tell you--
what, of course, I do not tell you now--that I feel as if I had a
big Newfoundland dog with me."
"Mlle. Celie," said Hanaud, and his voice told her that he was
moved, "that is a very pretty thing which you have said to me."
The lights of the city fell away behind them. Now only a glow in
the sky spoke of Geneva; now even that was gone and with a smooth
continuous purr the car raced through the cool darkness. The great
head lamps threw a bright circle of light before them and the road
slipped away beneath the wheels like a running tide. Celia fell
asleep. Even when the car stopped at the Pont de La Caille she did
not waken. The door was opened, a search for contrabrand was made,
the book was signed, still she did not wake. The car sped on.
"You see, coming into France is a different affair," said Hanaud.
"Yes," replied Ricardo.
"Still, I will own it, you caught me napping yesterday.
"I did?" exclaimed Ricardo joyfully.
"You did," returned Hanaud. "I had never heard of the Pont de La
Caille. But you will not mention it? You will not ruin me?"
"I will not," answered. M. Ricardo, superb in his magnanimity.
"You are a good detective."
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Hanaud in a voice which shook--
surely with emotion. He wrung Ricardo's hand. He wiped an
imaginary tear from his eye.
And still Celia slept. M. Ricardo looked at her. He said to Hanaud
in a whisper: "Yet I do not understand. The car, though no serious search was
made, must still have stopped at the Pont de La Caille on the
Swiss side. Why did she not cry for help then? One cry and she was
safe. A movement even was enough. Do you understand?"