At the Villa Rose Read Online Free

to the
murderers, for he was at Chambery in the evening, and the murder was
already discovered here by midnight. Moreover—it is a small point—he
lives, not in the house, but over the garage in a corner of the garden.
Then besides the chauffeur there was a charwoman, a woman of Aix, who
came each morning at seven and left in the evening at seven or eight.
Sometimes she would stay later if the maid was alone in the house, for
the maid is nervous. But she left last night before nine—there is
evidence of that—and the murder did not take place until afterwards.
That is also a fact, not a conjecture. We can leave the charwoman, who
for the rest has the best of characters, out of our calculations. There
remain then, the maid, Helene Vauquier, and"—he shrugged his
shoulders—"Mlle. Celie."
    Hanaud reached out for the matches and lit a cigarette.
    "Let us take first the maid, Helene Vauquier. Forty years old, a
Normandy peasant woman—they are not bad people, the Normandy peasants,
monsieur—avaricious, no doubt, but on the whole honest and most
respectable. We know something of Helene Vauquier, monsieur. See!" and
he took up a sheet of paper from the table. The paper was folded
lengthwise, written upon only on the inside. "I have some details here.
Our police system is, I think, a little more complete than yours in
England. Helene Vauquier has served Mme. Dauvray for seven years. She
has been the confidential friend rather than the maid. And mark this,
M. Wethermill! During those seven years how many opportunities has she
had of conniving at last night's crime? She was found chloroformed and
bound. There is no doubt that she was chloroformed. Upon that point Dr.
Peytin is quite, quite certain. He saw her before she recovered
consciousness. She was violently sick on awakening. She sank again into
unconsciousness. She is only now in a natural sleep. Besides those
people, there is Mlle. Celie. Of her, monsieur, nothing is known. You
yourself know nothing of her. She comes suddenly to Aix as the
companion of Mme. Dauvray—a young and pretty English girl. How did she
become the companion of Mme. Dauvray?"
    Wethermill stirred uneasily in his seat. His face flushed. To Mr.
Ricardo that had been from the beginning the most interesting problem
of the case. Was he to have the answer now?
    "I do not know," answered Wethermill, with some hesitation, and then it
seemed that he was at once ashamed of his hesitation. His accent
gathered strength, and in a low but ringing voice, he added: "But I say
this. You have told me, M. Hanaud, of women who looked innocent and
were guilty. But you know also of women and girls who can live
untainted and unspoilt amidst surroundings which are suspicious."
    Hanaud listened, but he neither agreed nor denied. He took up a second
slip of paper.
    "I shall tell you something now of Mme. Dauvray," he said. "We will not
take up her early history. It might not be edifying and, poor woman,
she is dead. Let us not go back beyond her marriage seventeen years ago
to a wealthy manufacturer of Nancy, whom she had met in Paris. Seven
years ago M. Dauvray died, leaving his widow a very rich woman. She had
a passion for jewellery, which she was now able to gratify. She
collected jewels. A famous necklace, a well-known stone—she was not,
as you say, happy till she got it. She had a fortune in precious
stones—oh, but a large fortune! By the ostentation of her jewels she
paraded her wealth here, at Monte Carlo, in Paris. Besides that, she
was kind-hearted and most impressionable. Finally, she was, like so
many of her class, superstitious to the degree of folly."
    Suddenly Mr. Ricardo started in his chair. Superstitious! The word was
a sudden light upon his darkness. Now he knew what had perplexed him
during the last two days. Clearly—too clearly—he remembered where he
had seen Celia Harland, and when. A picture rose before his eyes, and
it seemed to strengthen like a film in a developing-dish as