Before leaving the car, and after walking through the other compartments, M. Flocon made an especially strict search of the corner where the porter had his own small chair, his only resting-place, indeed, throughout the journey.
He had not forgotten the attendant's condition when first examined, and he had even then been nearly satisfied that the man had been hocussed, narcotized, drugged.
Any doubts were entirely removed by his picking up near the porter's seat a small silver-topped bottle and a handkerchief, both marked with coronet and monogram, the last of which, although the letters were much interlaced and involved, were decipherable as S.L.L.C.
It was that of the Countess, and corresponded with the marks on her other belongings.
He put it to his nostril, and recognized at once by its smell that it had contained tincture of laudanum, or some preparation of that drug.
CHAPTER V
M. Flocon was an experienced detective, and he knew so well that he ought to be on his guard against the most plausible suggestions, that he did not like to make too much of these discoveries.
Still, he was distinctly satisfied, if not exactly exultant, and he went back towards the station with a strong predisposition against the Contessa di Castagneto.
Just outside the waiting-room, however, his assistant, Galipaud, met him with news which rather dashed his hopes, and gave a new direction to his thoughts.
The lady's maid was not to be found.
"Impossible!" cried the Chief, and then at once suspicion followed surprise.
"I have looked, monsieur, inquired everywhere; the maid has not been seen.
She certainly is not here."
"Did she go through the barrier with the other passengers?"
"No one knows; no one remembers her; not even the conductor.
But she has gone. That is positive."
"Yet it was her duty to be here; to attend to her service.
Her mistress would certainly want her—has asked for her!
Why should she run away?"
This question presented itself as one of infinite importance, to be pondered over seriously before he went further into the inquiry.
Did the Countess know of this disappearance?
She had asked imploringly for her maid.
True, but might that not be a blind?
Women are born actresses, and at need can assume any part, convey any impression.
Might not the Countess have wished to be dissociated from the maid, and therefore have affected complete ignorance of her flight?
"I will try her further," said M. Flocon to himself.
But then, supposing that the maid had taken herself off of her own accord?
Why was it?
Why had she done so?
Because—because she was afraid of something.
If so, of what?
No direct accusation could be brought against her on the face of it.
She had not been in the sleeping-car at the time of the murder, while the Countess as certainly was; and, according to strong presumption, in the very compartment where the deed was done.
If the maid was afraid, why was she afraid?
Only on one possible hypothesis.
That she was either in collusion with the Countess, or possessed of some guilty knowledge tending to incriminate the Countess and probably herself.
She had run away to avoid any inconvenient questioning tending to get her mistress into trouble, which would react probably on herself.
"We must press the Countess on this point closely; I will put it plainly to M. le Juge," said the detective, as he entered the private room set apart for the police authorities, where he found M. Beaumont le Hardi, the instructing judge, and the Commissary of the Quartier (arrondissement).
A lengthy conference followed among the officials.
M. Flocon told all he knew, all he had discovered, gave his views with all the force and fluency of a public prosecutor, and was congratulated warmly on the progress he had made.
"I agree with you, sir," said the instructing judge: "we must have in the Countess first, and pursue the line indicated as regards the missing maid."
"I will fetch her, then.
Stay, what can be going on in there?" cried M. Flocon, rising from his seat and running into the outer waiting-room, which, to his surprise and indignation, he found in great confusion. The guard who was on duty was struggling, in personal conflict almost, with the English General. There was a great hubbub of voices, and the Countess was lying back half-fainting in her chair.
"What's all this?
How dare you, sir?"
This to the General, who now had the man by the throat with one hand and with the other was preventing him from drawing his sword.
"Desist—forbear!
You are opposing legal authority; desist, or I will call in assistance and will have you secured and removed."
The little Chief's blood was up; he spoke warmly, with all the force and dignity of an official who sees the law outraged.
"It is entirely the fault of this ruffian of yours; he has behaved most brutally," replied Sir Charles, still holding him tight.