The Rome Express | Page 6

at the
French detective's methods, but he bowed without speaking, and went
out.
Last of all the lady appeared, in a long sealskin travelling cloak, and
closely veiled. She answered M. Floçon's questions in a low, tremulous
voice, as though greatly perturbed.
She was the Contessa di Castagneto, she said, an Englishwoman by
birth; but her husband had been an Italian, as the name implied, and

they resided in Rome. He was dead--she had been a widow for two or
three years, and was on her way now to London.
"That will do, madame, thank you," said the detective, politely, "for the
present at least."
"Why, are we likely to be detained? I trust not." Her voice became
appealing, almost piteous. Her hands, restlessly moving, showed how
much she was distressed.
"Indeed, Madame la Comtesse, it must be so. I regret it infinitely; but
until we have gone further into this, have elicited some facts, arrived at
some conclusions--But there, madame, I need not, must not say more."
"Oh, monsieur, I was so anxious to continue my journey. Friends are
awaiting me in London. I do hope--I most earnestly beg and entreat you
to spare me. I am not very strong; my health is indifferent. Do, sir, be
so good as to release me from--"
As she spoke, she raised her veil, and showed what no woman wishes
to hide, least of all when seeking the good-will of one of the opposite
sex. She had a handsome face--strikingly so. Not even the long journey,
the fatigue, the worries and anxieties which had supervened, could rob
her of her marvellous beauty.
She was a brilliant brunette, dark-skinned; but her complexion was of a
clear, pale olive, and as soft, as lustrous as pure ivory. Her great eyes,
of a deep velvety brown, were saddened by near tears. She had rich red
lips, the only colour in her face, and these, habitually slightly apart,
showed pearly-white glistening teeth.
It was difficult to look at this charming woman without being affected
by her beauty. M. Floçon was a Frenchman, gallant and impressionable;
yet he steeled his heart. A detective must beware of sentiment, and he
seemed to see something insidious in this appeal, which he resented.
"Madame, it is useless," he answered gruffly. "I do not make the law; I
have only to support it. Every good citizen is bound to that."

"I trust I am a good citizen," said the Countess, with a wan smile, but
very wearily. "Still, I should wish to be let off now. I have suffered
greatly, terribly, by this horrible catastrophe. My nerves are quite
shattered. It is too cruel. However, I can say no more, except to ask that
you will let my maid come to me."
M. Floçon, still obdurate, would not even consent to that.
"I fear, madame, that for the present at least you cannot be allowed to
communicate with any one, not even with your maid."
"But she is not implicated; she was not in the car. I have not seen her
since--"
"Since?" repeated M. Floçon, after a pause.
"Since last night, at Amberieux, about eight o'clock. She helped me to
undress, and saw me to bed. I sent her away then, and said I should not
need her till we reached Paris. But I want her now, indeed I do."
"She did not come to you at Laroche?"
"No. Have I not said so? The porter,"--here she pointed to the man,
who stood staring at her from the other side of the table,--"he made
difficulties about her being in the car, saying that she came too often,
stayed too long, that I must pay for her berth, and so on. I did not see
why I should do that; so she stayed away."
"Except from time to time?"
"Precisely."
"And the last time was at Amberieux?"
"As I have told you, and he will tell you the same."
"Thank you, madame, that will do." The Chief rose from his chair,
plainly intimating that the interview was at an end.

CHAPTER IV
He had other work to do, and was eager to get at it. So he left Block to
show the Countess back to the waiting-room, and, motioning to the
porter that he might also go, the Chief hastened to the sleeping-car, the
examination of which, too long delayed, claimed his urgent attention.
It is the first duty of a good detective to visit the actual theatre of a
crime and overhaul it inch by inch,--seeking, searching, investigating,
looking for any, even the most insignificant, traces of the murderer's
hands.
The sleeping-car, as I have said, had been side-tracked, its doors were
sealed, and it was under strict watch and ward. But everything, of
course, gave way before the detective, and, breaking through