"She is sleeping soundly," said Guerchard. He stooped and picked up a handkerchief, and smelt it. "There's the handkerchief they chloroformed her with. It still smells of chloroform."
They stared at him and the sleeping woman.
"Lend a hand, inspector," he said. "And you too, Bonavent. She looks a good weight."
The three of them raised the mattress, and carried it and the sleeping woman to a broad couch, and laid them on it. They staggered under their burden, for truly Victoire was a good weight.
M. Formery rose, with recovered breath, but with his face an even richer purple. His eyes were rolling in his head, as if they were not under proper control.
He turned on the inspector and cried savagely, "You never examined the fireplace, inspector!"
"No, sir," said the downcast inspector.
"It was unpardonable—absolutely unpardonable!" cried M. Formery. "How is one to work with subordinates like this?"
"It was an oversight," said Guerchard.
M. Formery turned to him and said, "You must admit that it was materially impossible for me to see her."
