Turning round, and retracing her steps down the winding path, she proceeded to search below. As she projected round an abrupt turn of the road she jostled against a sergent de ville—mutual astonishment—explanations.
Speaking rapidly to him in his native tongue, with which she was even better conversant than Markworth, and knew almost as well as a genuine Parisienne, she represented matters to the guardian of the peace. “A murder and an assault has been committed,” she said, eagerly gesticulating in her emotion.
“I saw the villain throw a girl over that precipice above, and she or her body must be here! Let us search for her; help me to arrest the murderer! Have you heard no cries, seen no one?”
No, the sergent de ville had seen no one: he had only just come up the road: the officer whom he had relieved had reported no disturbance.
“Had madame cried out? Mon Dieu! really? He had heard no cries, in faith! It was very late for madame to be out—did she know what time it was?”
“I suppose it is nearly ten o’clock,” replied Miss Kingscott.
“Ma foi! Why it is close on morning. Madame cannot be well”—he meant that the lady, who certainly looked very bedraggled and disorderly, was something infinitely worse.
“I tell you, officer,” exclaimed the governess, stamping her foot, and speaking angrily, “I am not mad or drunk; and, no matter what time it is—night or morning—I am telling you the truth! I know the man that has done this; his name is Markworth, and an Englishman; and I saw him shove the girl over the precipice, for I was close behind him at the time! I tried to stop him. He struck me; here is the cut on my forehead; you can see for yourself that I don’t lie. The blow made me faint, and I must have been insensible much longer than I supposed, but it is not too late! We may catch the villain yet. It is your duty to aid me! But let us first search for the girl; her body must be here!”
Although strongly inclined to believe that the lady who addressed him was under the influence of absinthe or eau de vie, and that she had lost her way amongst the heights, and tumbling down had hurt herself, thus accounting for her blood-stained face and wild appearance, the sergent de ville was somewhat thrown off his first-formed opinion by her enthusiasm and the coherency of her story. He accordingly adjusted his lantern, and they looked about together in silence for some time. However, when no body of any murdered person was to be found, no traces of a sanguinary struggle to be seen, and everything looked as usual about the place, the sergent de ville returned to his original opinion.
“I said Madame was not well!” he observed, in an aggrieved tone. “She had better go home to bed, and not be talking of any fabulous murders! Where does Madame reside?”