"You have Francine Rollard?" Hanaud asked.
"You can hear her," Moreau returned dryly.
In the corridor a commotion arose, the scuffling of feet and a woman's voice screaming abuse. It died away.
"Mademoiselle here will not give you so much trouble," said Hanaud.
Betty was sitting huddled in her chair, her face averted and sullen, her lips muttering inaudible words. She had not once looked at Jim Frobisher since he had entered the room; nor did she now.
Moreau stooped and untied her ankles and a big gendarme raised her up. But her knees failed beneath her; she could not stand; her strength and her spirit had left her. The gendarme picked her up as if she had been a child; and as he moved to the door, Jim Frobisher planted himself in front of him.
"Stop!" he cried, and his voice was strong and resonant. "Monsieur Hanaud, you have said just now that you believed every word of Mademoiselle Ann's story."
"It is true."
"You believe then that Madame Harlowe was murdered at half-past ten on the night of the 27th of April. And at half-past ten Mademoiselle here was at Monsieur de Pouillac's ball! You will set her free."
Hanaud did not argue the point.