The Rome Express | Page 8

Italian, to lie under an open window in a sleeping-berth when
travelling by express train before daylight in March.
Who opened that window, then, and why? Perhaps some further facts
might be found on the outside of the car. With this idea, M. Floçon left
it, and passed on to the line or permanent way.
Here he found himself a good deal below the level of the car. These
sleepers have no foot-boards like ordinary carriages; access to them is
gained from a platform by the steps at each end. The Chief was short of
stature, and he could only approach the window outside by calling one
of the guards and ordering him to make the small ladder (_faire la petite
echelle_). This meant stooping and giving a back, on which little M.
Floçon climbed nimbly, and so was raised to the necessary height.
A close scrutiny revealed nothing unusual. The exterior of the car was
encrusted with the mud and dust gathered in the journey, none of which
appeared to have been disturbed.
M. Floçon reëntered the carriage neither disappointed nor pleased; his

mind was in an open state, ready to receive any impressions, and as yet
only one that was at all clear and distinct was borne in on him.
This was the presence of the lace and the jet beads in the theatre of the
crime. The inference was fair and simple. He came logically and surely
to this:
1. That some woman had entered the compartment.
2. That whether or not she had come in before the crime, she was there
after the window had been opened, which was not done by the
murdered man.
3. That she had leaned out, or partly passed out, of the window at some
time or other, as the scrap of lace testified.
4. Why had she leaned out? To seek some means of exit or escape, of
course.
But escape from whom? from what? The murderer? Then she must
know him, and unless an accomplice (if so, why run from him?), she
would give up her knowledge on compulsion, if not voluntarily, as
seemed doubtful, seeing she (his suspicions were consolidating) had
not done so already.
But there might be another even stronger reason to attempt escape at
such imminent risk as leaving an express train at full speed. To escape
from her own act and the consequences it must entail--escape from
horror first, from detection next, and then from arrest and punishment.
All this would imperiously impel even a weak woman to face the worst
peril, to look out, lean out, even try the terrible but impossible feat of
climbing out of the car.
So M. Floçon, by fair process of reasoning, reached a point which
incriminated one woman, the only woman possible, and that was the
titled, high-bred lady who called herself the Contessa di Castagneto.

This conclusion gave a definite direction to further search. Consulting
the rough plan which he had constructed to take the place of the
missing train card, he entered the compartment which the Countess had
occupied, and which was actually next door.
It was in the tumbled, untidy condition of a sleeping-place but just
vacated. The sex and quality of its recent occupant were plainly
apparent in the goods and chattels lying about, the property and
possessions of a delicate, well-bred woman of the world, things still left
as she had used them last--rugs still unrolled, a pair of easy-slippers on
the floor, the sponge in its waterproof bag on the bed, brushes, bottles,
button-hook, hand-glass, many things belonging to the dressing-bag,
not yet returned to that receptacle. The maid was no doubt to have
attended to all these, but as she had not come, they remained unpacked
and strewn about in some disorder.
M. Floçon pounced down upon the contents of the berth, and
commenced an immediate search for a lace scarf, or any wrap or cover
with lace.
He found nothing, and was hardly disappointed. It told more against the
Countess, who, if innocent, would have no reason to conceal or make
away with a possibly incriminating possession, the need for which she
could not of course understand.
Next, he handled the dressing-bag, and with deft fingers replaced
everything.
Everything was forthcoming but one glass bottle, a small one, the
absence of which he noted, but thought of little consequence, till, by
and by, he came upon it under peculiar circumstances.
Before leaving the car, and after walking through the other
compartments, M. Floçon made an especially strict search of the corner
where the porter had his own small chair, his only resting-place, indeed,
throughout the journey. He had not forgotten the attendant's condition
when first examined, and he had even then been nearly satisfied that the
man had been hocussed, narcotized,