“Tomorrow, when we shall have further prints. Ours have been sent on to Paris.”
“I would very much like to see it,” I said. “I am a lawyer from London, and my inquiry concerns a strange string of circumstances. This fact that forged bank-notes were found upon the man who died is truly amazing.”
“It may be amazing, but it is nevertheless a fact,” declared the old official.
“But did the injured man make any statement before he died?” I asked.
The inspector adjusted his pince-nez and searched the dossier.
“I think he did,” he said. “Ah! yes! Here we are,” and he took out a sheet of paper. “On the morning before he died he spoke to Soeur Yvonne, and uttered these words in English, ‘I am very sorry for all I have done. I would never have done the bad turns to Harry or to George unless it had been to gain money. But I could not resist it. They made me join in the scheme of printing false bank-notes, though I warned them of the peril. I know I must die, for the doctor told me so this morning. My only wish is that little Thelma may be made happy. That is my only wish. Let her discover the truth!’ Who ‘little Thelma’ may be, monsieur, we have, of course, no means of knowing.”
“And was that the only statement made by Stanley Audley immediately before he died,” I asked.
“Yes, monsieur. He died three hours later,” replied the inspector.
“He said nothing else—nothing more concerning Thelma?” I asked anxiously.
“Those words were the only ones he uttered, monsieur,” replied the inspector. “It is fortunate that Soeur Yvonne knows English, having been a nursing sister in London. Of course, there is no doubt that all three men were making a tour of France distributing spurious English notes, for, within a few days of the accident, many forged notes were brought to the notice of the police in Nantes, Orleans, Marseilles and Bordeaux. All of them had been changed into French notes, and no doubt in that car was a large sum of money.”