“I imagine,” he answered, “that they were some which she had, by chance, failed to give you for exchange.”
“But why should she destroy them?” I went on.
“I conclude,” he drawled, “that she was not wholly certain that she would escape.”
“Escape!” I cried. “You have been assuring me all along that Madame Barras is making no effort to escape.”
“Oh, no,” he replied, “she is making every effort.”
I was annoyed and puzzled.
“What is it,” I said, “precisely, that Madame Barras did here; can you tell me in plain words?”
“Surely,” he replied, “she sat here while something was decided, and while she sat here she smoked the cigarette, and while she smoked the cigarette, she destroyed the money. But,” he added, “before she had quite finished, a decision was made and she hastily thrust the remaining bits of the torn notes into the crevice between these stones.”
“What decision?” I said.
Marquis gathered up the bits of torn paper and put them into his pocket with the switched-off flash.