‘Annette.’
M. Boirac bowed his head while the others read this unhappy note. He seemed overcome with emotion, and there was silence in the Chief’s room for a few seconds. The sun shone gaily in with never a hint of tragedy, lighting up that bent figure in the arm-chair, and bringing into pitiless prominence details that should have been cloaked decently in shadow, from the drops of moisture on the drawn brow to the hands clenched white beneath the edge of the desk. Then, as they waited, he pulled himself together with an effort and continued:—
‘I was almost beside myself from the blow, and yet I instinctively felt I must act as if nothing had happened. I steadied myself and called to François, who was still in the hall:—
‘“It’s all right, François. I’ve had a note from Madame. She was obliged to go out at a moment’s notice to catch the Swiss train. She had a message that her mother is dying.”
‘He replied in his ordinary tone, but I could see that he did not believe one word. The understanding and the pity in his eyes almost drove me frantic. I spoke again as carelessly as I could,—
‘“I wonder had she time to call Suzanne and get properly dressed. You might send her here and then you can get back to bed.”
‘Suzanne was my wife’s maid, and when she came into the study I saw from her startled and embarrassed air that she knew.
‘“Suzanne,” I said, “Madame has had to go to Switzerland suddenly and unexpectedly. She had to rush off to catch the train without proper time for packing, still, I hope she was able to take enough for the journey?”
‘The girl answered at once in a nervous, frightened tone. “I have just been to her room, monsieur. She has taken her fur coat and hat and a pair of walking shoes. The evening shoes she was wearing to-night are there where she changed them. She did not ring for me and I did not hear her go to her room.”
‘I had become somewhat calmer by this time, and I was thinking rapidly while she spoke.