"He wanted to see you, and ask you one or two little questions. I put him off. He was like wax in my hands. Pouf! He has gone, so why trouble?"
"But he will come again! He is sure to come again!"
"No doubt. He says he will come again—in a week—when you return."
Mrs. Holymead wrung her hands helplessly.
"What are we to do then?" she wailed.
"We will look the tragedy in the face when it comes. Ma foi! What have you been doing to yourself? For nothing is it worth to look like that." With deft and loving fingers Gabrielle began to arrange Mrs. Holymead's hair. "We will have everything right before this little police agent returns. We will show him he is the complete fool for suspecting you know about the murder."
"But what can you do, Gabrielle?" asked Mrs. Holymead.
She looked at Gabrielle with her large brown eyes, as though she were utterly dependent on the other's stronger will for support and assistance. Mademoiselle Chiron stopped in her arrangement of Mrs. Holymead's hair and, bending over, kissed her affectionately.
"Ma petite," she said, "do not worry. I have thought of a plan—oh, a most excellent plan—which I will myself execute to-morrow, and then shall all your troubles be finished, and you will be happy again."