Volume Three—Chapter Three.
On the Trail.
It was not until late in the morning that Clara Kingscott was let out of the cell in the police-station, where she had been locked up, and was taken to be examined before Monsieur le Chef des sergents de ville.
Although she was full of natural indignation at the treatment that she met with, to gain her purpose, she was forced to dissemble her anger, and answer all the questions put to her in a cool and collected manner.
Having taken care also to arrange her toilette and efface the traces of bedragglement, her appearance had its due effect, and Monsieur le Chef comprehended the case in a moment.
It was a mistake arising from the want of perspicacity of an over-zealous officer, and the Chef entreated Madame—he begged pardon, Mademoiselle—to accept a hundred thousand apologies for the unfortunate mistake which had subjected her to such treatment.
Trop de zele was poor satisfaction for being arrested, locked up, and losing her vengeance; but Mademoiselle smiled sweetly, told the officer not to mention it, and now that she had gained his ear went on eagerly to tell her tale.
The Chef listened attentively to Miss Kingscott’s narration, making short notes in a memorandum book before him, knitting his brows, glancing at her every now and then interrogatively with his sharp pistolling eyes, and pulling the waxed ends of his black moustache à l’Empereur meditatively as she proceeded with her strange recital.
It did not astonish the Chef, however. The French police are never astonished, Le Garde meurt, mais ne se rend pas: Monsieur le Chef was only perplexed, but his perplexity grew greater the more he heard.
That a murder should have been committed anywhere was not such a very surprising thing in itself; but that a murder should take place in Havre, Havre which was under his own especial supervision, c’était impossible! It was a thing incredible.