"Yes, monsieur, I will tell you."
Hanaud bowed to her with a genuine deference.
"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, and in his voice there was a strong ring of sympathy.
They went downstairs and entered Ricardo’s motor car.
"I want to send a telephone message," said Hanaud, "if you will wait here."
"No!" cried Celia decisively, and she again laid hold of his coat, with a pretty imperiousness, as though he belonged to her.
"But I must," said Hanaud with a laugh.
"Then I will come too," said Celia, and she opened the door and set a foot upon the step.
"You will not, mademoiselle," said Hanaud, with a laugh. "Will you take your foot back into that car? That is better. Now you will sit with your friend, M. Ricardo, whom, by the way, I have not yet introduced to you. He is a very good friend of yours, mademoiselle, and will in the future be a still better one."
Ricardo felt his conscience rather heavy within him, for he had come out to Geneva with the fixed intention of arresting her as a most dangerous criminal. Even now he could not understand how she could be innocent of a share in Mme. Dauvray’s murder. But Hanaud evidently thought she was. And since Hanaud thought so, why, it was better to say nothing if one was sensitive to gibes. So Ricardo sat and talked with her while Hanaud ran back into the restaurant. It mattered very little, however, what he said, for Celia’s eyes were fixed upon the doorway through which Hanaud had disappeared. And when he came back she was quick to turn the handle of the door.