the power of the police. You must be very sure of your ground before you speak, you know, mademoiselle."
Célestine laughed. "Oh, but I am sure, and it is something that the police are but now looking for—something that they will give a great price to know."
There was no mistaking Mr. Lennox's interest now; his breath quickened. "I tell you what, mademoiselle, it seems to me that this is a case that needs careful handling. It won't do for you to go to Heron's Carew, yourself."
"But I tell you that that will be my revenge," Célestine reiterated.
"Suppose Sir Anthony gets the first look in," Lennox suggested. "Suppose he has the police at Heron's Carew, and before you have time to speak he gives you in custody, on some trumped-up charge of course. He might, you know, mademoiselle, and you wouldn't enjoy that, to think nothing of what I and your other friends would feel if we saw you marched down the village street by the police like a common thief. No revenge you could take would make up to us for that, mademoiselle."
Célestine hesitated, her change of countenance showed that the prospect was an alarming one.
"But what can I do then?" she debated. "I don't see—"
Lennox leaned across the little wooden table that divided them. "You could let a friend go, mademoiselle," he suggested. "A friend might manage it for you. If you look upon me as a friend, and I am proud to hope you do, if you would put the matter into my hands, why, you know it would be an honour and a pleasure to come to serve you."
Célestine considered the matter a minute, then she looked up at him through her eyelashes. "If Monsieur would be so good, I see now that it would be safer. But indeed I do not like to trouble you."
"Trouble taken for you is a pleasure to me, mademoiselle," the inspector declared gallantly. "I will walk up to Heron's Carew without delay if you will give me the track to go upon."
Célestine looked all around and lowered her voice. "I will tell you all from the beginning. You remember perhaps that I say that on the night of Lady Denborough's dinner party miladi have a migraine, that she stay at home and go out later."
Lennox nodded. "I remember thinking that she must have gone out to meet a lover myself."
Célestine shook her head. "It was no lover as I told you before, monsieur. The next day I find that one of the wardrobes door is locked. I wonder and I wonder why it is, and at last I find a key that fit the lock, and I get it open. Inside, pushed down in what you call the well, I find the white tea-gown Miladi was wearing the evening before. It is all dusty now, and bedragged, and there is ink on the skirt and the bodice and the sleeves are all stained with blood. Yes, indeed, monsieur," as Lennox, in spite of his self-control, uttered an exclamation of astonishment. "Well I say nothing—me. But I take out the gown, and I put it away in one of my places, and when Miladi come to look for it, it has gone and she never guess who has it."
"Still I don't see," Mr. Lennox debated. "Her nose might have bled."
"Pah!" Célestine said contemptuously. "You have not heard all, monsieur. That night a man was killed in Leinster Avenue, and all London was trying to find a woman who visited him, a tall woman with golden hair, and only I, Célestine, knew that it was miladi for whom they were looking. Miladi went up to see that man in the flat that night that he died. Now, monsieur, shall I not have my revenge?"
"Perhaps," Lennox said slowly, "but it won't be the easy affair you think, mademoiselle. It can't be dealt with by the local police. And it isn't a matter that I can walk up to Heron's Carew and lay before Sir Anthony; that would be to spoil everything—to give the whole show away. I have got a friend at Scotland Yard; if you will allow me we will take his advice upon it, and see what he thinks we ought to do."
"As you like," Célestine's eyes narrowed into slits. "We will ask your friend what you like, only I will have my revenge," she said decidedly. "You understand, monsieur, I must not be deprived of my revenge."
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