"I speak then, monsieur, straight. It's a drama of the Porte St. Martin. In this way. On the night before my dear friend goes to Jarlcesterre he is in this room; with him, myself. We talk, we laugh, we weep adieu! At once there is a tap at the window there—the window that opens like a door on to the beautiful grass. We turn; I see the dress, the hood, the figure of a woman, but not the face. My friend Sebastian to me speaks: 'Go, my good friend, I have to speak with a charming angel. You are a man of honour. Disturb not our rendezvous.' What would you? I go, and my friend Sebastian locks the door. At this I am angry. He trusts me not, so I say: 'Very well, you think I am a spy. So be it, I will listen.' Conceive to yourself, monsieur, how I was judged. In anger, I went outside to that window. It is open but a little, and I hear all—all! Sebastian to the woman speaks. They talk, and talk, and fight, and rage! Oh! it was terrible. She asks of him something, and he says, 'Yes, it is for you.' Then he goes out of this room by that door. She is left alone, this charming woman. She goes to the table, here; on it there is a box of pills—my friend's box of pills. She opens the box. My eye beholds her drop into it something, I know not what. Again she closes the box, and waits. I see my dear Melstane return. They talk, they kiss, they part. From the window I fly, and when I come into this room by the door, the woman is gone, Sebastian is gone, and the window is closed but not locked. I go to it, I open it, and on the grass there I see a handkerchief; it is now mine, and on it is the name of the woman that came—the woman that put the pills in the box—the woman that killed my friend."
"And the name—the name!" cried Fanks, in a state of great excitement, springing to his feet; "tell me her name."
Rapid as thought Guinaud produced a white handkerchief from his breast-pocket and flung it to Fanks.
The detective seized it, and looked at the name in the corner.
"Judith!"
Extracts From a Detective's Note-Book
". . . I have seen Judas, and he made a strange confession . . . He actually saw the person who committed the crime put the pills into the box . . . The name was hardly a surprise to me . . . I thought Miss Varlins was guilty, but hardly thought my suspicions would be confirmed so soon . . . Poor Roger, it will be a terrible blow to him to learn that the woman he loves is guilty of such a terrible crime . . . I don't believe she ever loved Roger . . . all her passions were centred on Melstane . . . He must have been a wonderfully fascinating scamp . . . I don't know why I should pity Judith Varlins . . . She has treated Roger shamefully . . . She has treated Florry Marson shamefully . . . for she pretended to love the one and killed the lover of the other . . . Her handkerchief has betrayed her . . . She will be a very clever woman if she can get out of that . . . The evidence of the handkerchief . . . the evidence of Judas are both dead against her . . .
"Mem.—To write to Marson asking for an interview.
". . . I will take up Judas and Roger with me, so as to convict her of the crime . . . It will be a terrible ordeal for the poor boy, but anything is better than that he should marry a murderess . . . This was the reason she refused to let me see the letters . . . some of her own were there, betraying her guilty passion . . . She has been playing a double game all through, but now she is brought to book at last . . . She must be a woman of iron nerve . . . Her adopted sister is lying dangerously ill from the consequences of Judith's crime . . . from the sudden intelligence that the man she loved is dead, and yet Judith can still wear her mask and play the part of a sick-nurse . . . She must be a perfect fiend . . . Lucrezia Borgia fin de siècle . . . I expect to have a terrible scene to-morrow night . . . Poor Roger! . . .
"Judas is an incarnate devil . . . I wish he was the guilty one instead of Judith Varlins . . . Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to put the irons on him."