rich black moustache of extraordinary fierceness.
"Shall I go and inform M. Formery that you have come, M. Guerchard?" he said.
"No, no; there's no need to take the trouble," said Guerchard in a gentle, rather husky voice. "Don't bother any one about me—I'm of no importance."
"Oh, come, M. Guerchard," protested the policeman.
"Of no importance," said M. Guerchard decisively. "For the present, M. Formery is everything. I'm only an assistant."
He stepped into the drawing-room and stood looking about it, curiously still. It was almost as if the whole of his being was concentrated in the act of seeing—as if all the other functions of his mind and body were in suspension.
"M. Formery and the inspector have just been up to examine the housekeeper's room. It's right at the top of the house—on the second floor. You take the servants' staircase. Then it's right at the end of the passage on the left. Would you like me to take you up to it, sir?" said the policeman eagerly. His heart was in his work.
"Thank you, I know where it is—I've just come from it," said Guerchard gently.
A grin of admiration widened the already
