There was confusion in the corridor. Men were running, voices were crying questions. As they passed the window they saw Wethermill start up, aroused from his lethargy. They knew the truth before they reached the entrance of the hotel. A cab had driven up to the door from the station; in the cab was an unknown woman stabbed to the heart.
"She should have come by the omnibus," Hanaud repeated and repeated stupidly. For the moment he was off his balance.
CHAPTER XI
THE UNOPENED LETTER
The hall of the hotel had been cleared of people. At the entrance from the corridor a porter barred the way.
"No one can pass," said he.
"I think that I can," said Hanaud, and he produced his card. "From the Surete at Paris."
He was allowed to enter, with Ricardo at his heels. On the ground lay Marthe Gobin; the manager of the hotel stood at her side; a doctor was on his knees. Hanaud gave his card to the manager.
"You have sent word to the police?"