“A single shot?” Sir Clinton questioned. “Un seul coup de feu?”
“One only,” Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux answered definitely. “I hastened back along the road in the direction of the automobile. I had the idea of an accident in my head, you understand? It was very sombre; great clouds were passing on the moon. I could see with difficulty the woman's figure hasten up from the rock towards the automobile; and almost at once the chauffeur rejoined her. When they were getting into the automobile I was quite close; I could hear them speak, although it was too dark to see them except most dimly. The woman spoke first, very agitated.”
Her three listeners were intent on her next words. Armadale looked up, his pencil poised to take down her report. Wendover felt a catch in his breath as he waited for the next sentences which would either make or break the inspector's case.
“She said,” Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux continued, “She said these very words, for they were stamped on my memory since they meant so much to me: ‘I've shot him, Stanley.’ And the chauffeur demanded: ‘Have you killed him?’ And you can understand, messieurs, that I listened with all my ears. The woman responded: ‘I think so. He fell at once and lay quite still. What's to be done?’ And to that the chauffeur made the reply: ‘Get you away at once.’ And he made some movement as if to put the motor in march. But the woman stopped him and demanded: ‘Aren't you going down to look at him—see if anything can be done?’ And to that the chauffeur made the response in anger: ‘It's damn well likely, isn't it?’ Just like that. And he pursued: ‘Not till I've seen you in safety, anyhow. I'm not running any risks.’ ”
Wendover felt that his last shred of hope had been torn away. This reported conversation might have been concerted between Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux and Armadale beforehand, so neatly did it fit into its place in the inspector's case. He glanced up at Sir Clinton's face, and saw there only the quiet satisfaction of a man who fits a fresh piece of a jig-saw puzzle into position.
“Then,” Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux continued, “the chauffeur set his motor in march and reversed the automobile. I stepped aside off the road for fear that they should see me; but they went off towards the hotel without illuminating the projectors.”
She stopped, evidently thinking that she had told all that was of importance. Armadale suggested that she should continue her tale.
“Figure to yourselves my position,” she went on. “Staveley was lying dead on the rock. The automobile had gone. I was left alone. If one came along the road and encountered me, there would be suspicion; and one would have said that I had good reason to hate Staveley. I could see nothing but embarrassments before me. And the chauffeur had suggested that he might return later on. What more easy, if he found me there, than to throw suspicion on me to discredit me? Or to incriminate me, even? In thinking of these things, I lost my head. My sole idea was to get away without being seen. I went furtively along the road, in trembling lest the automobile should return. No one met me; and I regained the gardens of the hotel without being encountered. As I was passing one of the alleys, I noticed standing there the great automobile, with its lights extinguished. I passed into the hotel without misfortune.”
“What time did you get back to the hotel, madame?” Armadale asked, as she halted again.
“Ah! I am able to tell you that, Monsieur l'Inspecteur, and exactly. I noted the hour mechanically on the clock in the hall. It was midnight less five minutes when I arrived.”