"Madame will remain here, please, until we return. It may not be for long."
"And afterwards?" asked the Countess, whose nervousness had if anything increased during the whispered colloquy of the officials.
"Ah, afterwards!
Who knows?" was the reply, with a shrug of the shoulders, all most enigmatic and unsatisfactory.
"What have we against her?" said the Judge, as soon as they had gained the absolute privacy of the sleeping-car.
"The bottle of laudanum and the porter's condition.
He was undoubtedly drugged," answered the detective; and the discussion which followed took the form of a dialogue between them, for the Commissary took no part in it.
"Yes; but why by the Countess?
How do we know that positively?"
"It is her bottle," said M. Flocon.
"Her story may be true—that she missed it, that the maid took it."
"We have nothing whatever against the maid.
We know nothing about her."
"No. Except that she has disappeared.
But that tells more against her mistress.
It is all very vague.
I do not see my way quite, as yet."
"But the fragment of lace, the broken beading?
Surely, M. le Juge, they are a woman's, and only one woman was in the car—"
"So far as we know."
"But if these could be proved to be hers?"
"Ah! if you could prove that!"
"Easy enough.
Have her searched, here at once, in the station.
There is a female searcher attached to the detention-room."
"It is a strong measure.
She is a lady."
"Ladies who commit crimes must not expect to be handled with kid gloves."
"She is an Englishwoman, or with English connections; titled, too.
I hesitate, upon my word.
Suppose we are wrong?
It may lead to unpleasantness.
M. le Prefet is anxious to avoid complications possibly international."
As he spoke, he bent over, and, taking a magnifier from his pocket, examined the lace, which still fluttered where it was caught.
"It is fine lace, I think.
What say you, M. Flocon?
You may be more experienced in such matters."
"The finest, or nearly so; I believe it is Valenciennes—the trimming of some underclothing, I should think.
That surely is sufficient, M. le Juge?"
M. Beaumont le Hardi gave a reluctant consent, and the Chief went back himself to see that the searching was undertaken without loss of time.
The Countess protested, but vainly, against this new indignity.
What could she do?
A prisoner, practically friendless,—for the General was not within reach,—to resist was out of the question.
Indeed, she was plainly told that force would be employed unless she submitted with a good grace.
There was nothing for it but to obey.
Mother Tontaine, as the female searcher called herself, was an evil-visaged, corpulent old creature, with a sickly, soft, insinuating voice, and a greasy, familiar manner that was most offensive.
They had given her the scrap of torn lace and the debris of the jet as a guide, with very particular directions to see if they corresponded with any part of the lady's apparel.
She soon showed her quality.
"Aha! oho!
What is this, my pretty princess?