"This Tricot is desperate and very strong. He sprang upon my husband and killed him. But there was a sound of struggle and the noise of a falling body which Monsieur Jim Horton and his companion heard from the door of the room in the hall. They came out. And weapon in hand, Jim Horton, after several minutes, broke in the door. But by this time the murderer had taken his place again as the lay figure, just as he stood when they had first entered the room. In their horror at their discovery they passed him by and rushed down the stair."
"And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire.
"He ran quickly to the window, outside which he had put my lay figure, dragged it in hurriedly, dressed it in its clothing and restored it to its place, then ran out and hid in the darkness of the hall room, intending to leap out to the roof below. But he did not dare it with his injured leg, resorting to the clever device which I have indicated to you, of going out when the crowd swarmed excitedly up to the studio door, and announcing that no one was there. Then, Messieurs, in a moment he had mingled with the crowd and was gone."
"And how did you learn this, Madame?"
"By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had overlooked. This, Monsieur——"
And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth from her pocket.
"It was torn from the mannikin upon a projecting piece of tin and hung from the gutter outside. You have only to apply it to the leg of the mannikin, Monsieur le Commissaire."
The bewildered police officer took the small object and turned it over in his fingers, then went to the lay figure while Monsieur Simon showed him the stains at the arm pits and upon the thigh, explaining the line of reasoning the girl had employed.
He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was that of a broken man.
"My honor—my reputation, are in your keeping, Madame," he muttered.