“Ha!” he said, “you see something? You recognise the dress of your compatriot?” with much guttural rolling of his R’s.
“I do!” she answered, “I can swear that Susan Hartshorne wore a dress like that the last time I saw her alive.”
“It is well! We have now some proof, but we must discover what has been done with the body. Mademoiselle will now accompany me to the bureau of the Juge de Paix,” he added, after a reflective pause, filled up with more notation and twirling of the somewhat stiff ends of the “hirsute appendage on his upper lip.”
The Chef leading this time and Miss Kingscott following behind, the two were soon walking rapidly together towards the imposing residence of the official alluded to.
Volume Three—Chapter Four.
Poor Andromeda!
While events were thus hastening on abroad, all was quiet at home, both at The Poplars and the parsonage. Fancy Andromeda’s lamentations when Perseus left her! and in her place picture Lizzie, since Tom had gone.
It was now autumn, or rather winter, for the month of November was well in hand, and Christmas was “coming,” as the adage says.—Some people’s Christmases seem always coming.