A. E. W. Mason

“ Now only a glow in the sky spoke of Geneva; now even that was gone and with a smooth continuous purr the car raced through the cool darkness. The great head lamps threw a bright circle of light before them and the road slipped away beneath the wheels like a running tide. Celia fell asleep. Even when the car stopped at the Pont de La Caille she did not waken. The door was opened, a search for contrabrand was made, the book was signed, still she did not wake. The car sped on.
"You see, coming into France is a different affair," said Hanaud.
"Yes," replied Ricardo. ”

“ They ran out and hid in the garden, having no time to lock the garden door, or perhaps not daring to lock it lest the sound of the key should reach our ears. We find that door upon the latch, the door of the room open; on the table lies the morphia- needle. Upstairs lies Mlle. Célie—she is helpless, she cannot see what they are meaning to do."
"But she could cry out," exclaimed Ricardo. "She did not even do that!"
"No, my friend, she could not cry out," replied Hanaud very seriously. "I know why. She could not. No living man or woman could. ”

“ We, the police, find the jewels and take charge of them. Let that news reach the house in Geneva, and on the same night Mlle. Célie loses her life, and not—very pleasantly. They have no further use for her. She is merely a danger to them. So I take my precautions—never mind for the moment what they were. I take care that if the murderer is in Aix and gets wind of our discovery he shall not be able to communicate his news."
"The Post Office would have stopped letters or telegrams," said Ricardo. "I understand."
"On the contrary," replied Hanaud. ”