And now, another small matter.
I see," he referred to the rough plan of the sleeping-car prepared by M. Flocon,—"I see that you occupied the compartment d, with berths Nos. 9 and 10?"
"I think 9 was the number of my berth."
"It was. You may be certain of that.
Now next door to your compartment—do you know who was next door?
I mean in 7 and 8?"
The Countess's lip quivered, and she was a prey to sudden emotion as she answered in a low voice:
"It was where—where—"
"There, there, madame," said the Judge, reassuring her as he would a little child. "You need not say. It is no doubt very distressing to you.
Yet, you know?"
She bent her head slowly, but uttered no word.
"Now this man, this poor man, had you noticed him at all? No—no—not afterwards, of course. It would not be likely. But during the journey.
Did you speak to him, or he to you?"
"No, no—distinctly no."
"Nor see him?"
"Yes, I saw him, I believe, at Modane with the rest when we dined."
"Ah! exactly so. He dined at Modane.
Was that the only occasion on which you saw him?
You had never met him previously in Rome, where you resided?"
"Whom do you mean?
The murdered man?"
"Who else?"
"No, not that I am aware of. At least I did not recognize him as a friend."
"I presume, if he was among your friends—"
"Pardon me, that he certainly was not," interrupted the Countess.
"Well, among your acquaintances—he would probably have made himself known to you?"
"I suppose so."
"And he did not do so?
He never spoke to you, nor you to him?"
"I never saw him, the occupant of that compartment, except on that one occasion.
I kept a good deal in my compartment during the journey."
"Alone?
It must have been very dull for you," said the Judge, pleasantly.
"I was not always alone," said the Countess, hesitatingly, and with a slight flush. "I had friends in the car."
"Oh—oh"—the exclamation was long-drawn and rather significant. "Who were they?
You may as well tell us, madame, we should certainly find out."
"I have no wish to withhold the information," she replied, now turning pale, possibly at the imputation conveyed. "Why should I?"
"And these friends were—?"
"Sir Charles Collingham and his brother.
They came and sat with me occasionally; sometimes one, sometimes the other."
"During the day?"
"Of course, during the day." Her eyes flashed, as though the question was another offence.
"Have you known them long?"
"The General I met in Roman society last winter.
It was he who introduced his brother."
"Very good, so far.
The General knew you, took an interest in you.
That explains his strange, unjustifiable conduct just now—"
"I do not think it was either strange or unjustifiable," interrupted the Countess, hotly. "He is a gentleman."
"Quite a preux cavalier, of course.