"Alone? It must have been very dull for you," said the Judge, pleasantly.
"I was not always alone," said the Countess, hesitatingly, and with a slight flush. "I had friends in the car."
"Oh-oh"-the exclamation was long-drawn and rather significant.
"Who were they? You may as well tell us, madame, we should certainly find out."
"I have no wish to withhold the information," she replied, now turning pale, possibly at the imputation conveyed. "Why should I?"
"And these friends were-?"
"Sir Charles Collingham and his brother. They came and sat with me occasionally; sometimes one, sometimes the other."
"During the day?"
"Of course, during the day." Her eyes flashed, as though the question was another offence.
"Have you known them long?"
"The General I met in Roman society last winter. It was he who introduced his brother."
"Very good, so far. The General knew you, took an interest in you. That explains his strange, unjustifiable conduct just now-"
"I do not think it was either strange or unjustifiable," interrupted the Countess, hotly. "He is a gentleman."
"Quite a preux cavalier, of course. But we will pass on. You are not a good sleeper, I believe, madame?"
"Indeed no, I sleep badly, as a rule."
"Then you would be easily disturbed. Now, last night, did you hear anything strange in the car, more particularly in the adjoining compartment?"
"Nothing."
"No sound of voices raised high, no noise of a conflict, a struggle?"
"No, monsieur."
"That is odd. I cannot understand it. We know, beyond all question, from the appearance of the body,-the corpse,-that there was a fight, an encounter. Yet you, a wretched sleeper, with only a thin plank of wood between you and the affray, hear nothing, absolutely nothing. It is most extraordinary."
"I was asleep. I must have been asleep."
"A light sleeper would certainly be awakened. How can you explain-how can you reconcile that?" The question was blandly put, but the Judge's incredulity verged upon actual insolence.
"Easily: I had taken a soporific. I always do, on a journey. I am obliged to keep something, sulphonal or chloral, by me, on purpose."
"Then this, madame, is yours?" And the Judge, with an air of undisguised triumph, produced the small glass vial which M. Flocon had picked up in the sleeping-car near the conductor's seat.
The Countess, with a quick gesture, put out her hand to take it.
"No, I cannot give it up. Look as near as you like, and say is it yours?"
"Of course it is mine. Where did you get it? Not in my berth?"
"No, madame, not in your berth."
"But where?"
"Pardon me, we shall not tell you-not just now."
"I missed it last night," went on the Countess, slightly confused.
"After you had taken your dose of chloral?"
"No, before."
"And why did you want this? It is laudanum."
"For my nerves. I have a toothache. I-I-really, sir, I need not tell you all my ailments."
"And the maid had removed it?"
"So I presume; she must have taken it out of the bag in the first instance."
"And then kept it?"
"That is what I can only suppose."
"Ah!"
CHAPTER VII
When the Judge had brought down the interrogation of the Countess to the production of the small glass bottle, he paused, and with a long-drawn "Ah!" of satisfaction, looked round at his colleagues.
Both M. Flocon and the Commissary nodded their heads approvingly, plainly sharing his triumph.
Then they all put their heads together in close, whispered conference.
"Admirable, M. le Juge!" said the detective. "You have been most adroit. It is a clear case."
"No doubt," said the Commissary, who was a blunt, rather coarse person, believing that to take anybody and everybody into custody is always the safest and simplest course. "It looks black against her. I think she ought to be arrested at once."
"We might, indeed we ought to have more evidence, more definite evidence, perhaps?" The Judge was musing over the facts as he knew them. "I should like, before going further, to look at the car," he said, suddenly coming to a conclusion.
M. Flocon readily agreed. "We will go together," he said, adding, "Madame will remain here, please, until we return. It may not be for long."
"And afterwards?" asked the Countess, whose nervousness had if anything increased during the whispered colloquy of the officials.
"Ah, afterwards! Who knows?" was the reply, with a shrug of the shoulders, all most enigmatic and unsatisfactory.
"What have we against her?" said the Judge, as soon as they had gained the absolute privacy of the sleeping-car.
"The bottle of laudanum and the porter's condition. He was undoubtedly drugged," answered the detective; and the discussion which followed took the form of a dialogue between them, for the Commissary took no part in it.
"Yes; but why by the Countess? How do we know that positively?"
"It is her bottle," said M. Flocon.
"Her story may be true-that she missed it, that the maid took it."
"We have nothing whatever against the maid. We know nothing about her."
"No. Except that she has disappeared. But that tells more against her mistress. It is all very vague. I do not see my way quite, as yet."
"But the fragment of lace, the broken beading? Surely, M. le Juge, they are a woman's, and only one woman was in the car-"
"So far as we know."
"But if these could be proved to be hers?"
"Ah! if you could prove that!"
"Easy enough. Have her searched, here at once, in the station. There is a female searcher attached to the detention-room."
"It is a strong measure. She is a lady."
"Ladies who commit crimes must not expect to be handled with kid gloves."
"She is an Englishwoman, or with English connections; titled, too. I hesitate, upon my word. Suppose we are wrong? It may lead to unpleasantness. M. le Prefet is anxious to avoid complications possibly international."
As he spoke, he bent over, and, taking a magnifier from his pocket, examined the lace, which still fluttered where it was caught.
"It is fine lace, I think. What say you, M. Flocon? You may be more experienced in such matters."
"The finest, or nearly so; I believe it is Valenciennes-the trimming of some underclothing, I should think. That surely is sufficient, M. le Juge?"
M. Beaumont le Hardi gave a reluctant consent, and the Chief went back himself to see that the searching was undertaken without loss of time.
The Countess protested, but vainly, against this new indignity. What could she do? A prisoner, practically friendless,-for the General was not within reach,-to resist was out of the question. Indeed, she was plainly told that force would be employed unless she submitted with a good grace. There was nothing for it but to obey.
Mother Tontaine, as the female searcher called herself, was an evil-visaged, corpulent old creature, with a sickly, soft, insinuating voice, and a greasy, familiar manner that was most offensive. They had given her the scrap of torn lace and the debris of the jet as a guide, with very particular directions to see if they corresponded with any part of the lady's apparel.
She soon showed her quality.
"Aha! oho! What is this, my pretty princess? How comes so great a lady into the hands of Mother Tontaine? But I will not harm you, my beauty, my pretty, my little one. Oh, no, no, I will not trouble you, dearie. No, trust to me;" and she held out one skinny claw, and looked the other way. The Countess did not or would not understand.