Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position the Juge d'Instruction had now taken, was silent, but still incredulous.
"I should like to hear the other facts upon which you base this testimony," he said slowly.
Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin, its frozen gesture now almost prophetic. "Tell Monsieur le Commissaire what happened in this room as you have traced it, Madame."
Moira glanced at the Commissaire, who bowed his head in an attitude of attention, which had in it not a little of humility.
"The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton," said Moira. "There is no doubt in my mind as to that. The Petit Bleu was the lure, this studio the trap. The affair had been planned with skill. The motive was vengeance, and a desire to prevent certain papers from reaching the hands of Monsieur le Duc de Vautrin. This man Tricot was already in the studio when Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin arrived. Perhaps Monsieur le Commissaire has already guessed where."
"Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely.
"He had taken the clothing from the mannikin and put the lay figure out in the darkness on the ledge outside the north window. Then he went and stood in the place of the lay figure. He had put on the old skirt and bolero jacket, and slouch hat, and about his shoulders was the gray drapery. He had only to remain silent and motionless. He was prepared to spring upon and stab Monsieur Jim Horton when his back was turned, but the appearance of Madame Morin disconcerted him. He had counted on a quick death without an outcry. Madame Morin knew him. He did not dare to attempt to kill them both. And so he waited."
"Saperlotte!"
"Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin examined the studio in curiosity and then went out into the hall, now suspicious that all was not as it should be. Monsieur Tricot did not dare to go until he was sure that they had gone. He was about to take his leave when he heard a man's footsteps upon the stair and went back to his position on the model stand. The man entered. He thought that it was Monsieur Jim Horton come back alone. But it was not Jim Horton. It was my husband, Harry Horton, his twin brother. The testimony shows that their clothing was much alike. Their faces were the same. Tricot saw my husband's face for a moment under the low gas light as he came in the door, locking it behind him. God knows why my—my husband was here. I don't. He came to spend the night perhaps—to wait for me."
She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible. But a word from Monsieur Simon encouraged her again.