"At once."
"It is a delicate position," said Ricardo. "Here is a man in charge of a case of murder, and we are quietly to go to him-"
To his relief Wethermill interrupted him.
"No, no," he cried; "he is not in charge of the case. He is on his holiday. I read of his arrival two days ago in the newspaper. It was stated that he came for rest. What I want is that he should take charge of the case."
The superb confidence of Wethermill shook Mr. Ricardo for a moment, but his recollections were too clear.
"You are going out of your way to launch the acutest of French detectives in search of this girl. Are you wise, Wethermill?"
Wethermill sprang up from his chair in desperation.
"You, too, think her guilty! You have seen her. You think her guilty-like this detestable newspaper, like the police."
"Like the police?" asked Ricardo sharply.
"Yes," said Harry Wethermill sullenly. "As soon as I saw that rag I ran down to the villa. The police are in possession. They would not let me into the garden. But I talked with one of them. They, too, think that she let in the murderers."