“Was nothing else of interest found in the dead man’s possession?”
“Nothing except a card-case, a silver cigarette case, a wallet containing 220 francs, the return half of a first-class ticket from Brussels to Marseilles and a tram-ticket taken in Barcelona.”
I left, promising to call again next day, and wandered out upon the broad bridge that spans the Loire and affords such a splendid view up the broad valley. What could the dying man have meant by that reference to Thelma?
I spent a very anxious day, trying to idle away the time in the little museum in the Hotel de Ville and inspecting the treasures of the ancient church of St. Pierre. In the afternoon I watched the training of a number of cavalry officers on the exercise ground, and after dinner went to a cinema.
Next morning I returned eagerly to the Prefect and the inspector appeared with several photographs. One showed the wrecked car at the scene of the accident and beside it stood two men.
“They are the men Raves and Chester,” remarked the inspector.
“Who is the one leaning against the car. The one with the cap in his hand?” I asked.
“That is the Englishman, Chester.”
And I had recognized him instantly as Harold Ruthen!
“And the dead man?”