The curious marks, as though a man's hand had attempted to strangle her, were of a pale yellowish-brown, the colour of disappearing bruises. One was narrow and small, where the finger had pressed; the other wide and long, the mark of the thumb.
Again I returned to my berth, and as the express thundered on its way northward towards Turin, I tried to form some theory to account for my discovery of those curious marks upon her.
The hours of early morning crept slowly by. The sun rose over the beautiful vine-lands of Asti as we whirled forward towards the great Alpine barrier which so splendidly divides Italy from France; its rays penetrated into our narrow chamber, but the sleeping woman did not stir. She seemed as one in a trance.
Close beside me lay her dress-skirt. My eyes had been fixed upon it a hundred times during the night, and it now occurred to me that by searching its pocket I might discover something that would give me a clue to her real identity. Therefore, after ascertaining that she was still unconscious of things about her, I slowly turned over the skirt, placed my hand in the pocket and drew out the contents.
The first object I opened was a silver-mounted purse of crocodile leather, because in this I hoped to discover her visiting-card. But I was disappointed. The purse contained only a few pieces of French money, a couple of receipts from shops in Paris, and a tiny scrap of card, an inch square, with several numerals scribbled upon it.
The numbers were unintelligible, but when I chanced to turn the piece of thin pasteboard over, its reverse gave me an immediate clue. It was a piece of one of those red-and-black ruled cards used by gamblers at Monte Carlo to register the numbers at roulette. This woman, whoever she was, had evidently been to Monte Carlo, and the numbers scribbled there were those which she believed would bring her fortune. Every gambler has her strong-rooted fancies, just as she has her amusing superstitions, and her belief in unlucky days and unlucky croupiers.
Two facts were plain. First, that she bore marks upon her which were the exact counterpart of those found on poor Reggie; secondly, that she herself had been to Monte Carlo.
Her handkerchief was of fine lawn, but bore no mark, while the crumpled piece of paper—without which no woman's pocket is complete—proved, on examination; to contain only the address of some person in Brussels.
I carefully replaced all these articles, having failed to ascertain her name; and then I dozed again. She was already up, and dressed, when I awoke.
"Ah!" she laughed, "I see you've been sleeping well. I've had a famous night. I always sleep well when I travel. But I have a secret. A doctor friend of mine gave me some little tabloids of some narcotic—I don't know its name—but if I take one I sleep quite well for six or seven hours at a stretch."