For nearly an hour they sat discussing the affair; then they ascended the white, dusty road to the beautiful Villa Amette, the home of the mysterious Mademoiselle.
Old Giulio Cataldi opened the door.
“Alas! m’sieur, Mademoiselle is just the same,” he replied in response to Hugh’s eager inquiry. “The police have gone, but Doctor Leneveu is still upstairs.”
“Have the police searched the garden?” inquired Hugh eagerly.
“Yes, m’sieur. They made a thorough examination, but have discovered no marks of footprints except those of yourself, myself, and a tradesman’s lad who brought up a parcel late last night.”
“Then they found no weapon?” asked the young Englishman.
“No, m’sieur. There is no clue whatever to the assailant.”
“Curious that there should be no footmarks,” remarked Brock. “Yet they found yours, Hugh.”
“Yes. The man must surely have left some trace outside!”
“One would certainly have thought so,” Brock said. “I wonder if we may go into the room where the tragedy happened?” he asked of the servant.