"Oh, I don't say that! The play isn't finished. After the great scene of the third act, which we will call the scene of the oxide of carbon, there will certainly be a fourth act and perhaps a fifth. The enemy has not laid down his arms, by any means."

They were skirting the quays.

"Let's get down," said Don Luis.

He gave a faint whistle and repeated it three times.

"No answer," he said. "Ya-Bon's not there. The battle has begun."

"But Coralie . . ."

"What are you afraid of for her? Simeon doesn't know her address."

There was n.o.body on Berthou's Wharf and n.o.body on the quay below. But by the light of the moon they saw the other barge, the _Nonchalante_.

"Let's go on board," said Don Luis. "I wonder if the lady known as Gregoire makes a practise of living here? Has she come back, believing us on our way to Le Havre? I hope so. In any case, Ya-Bon must have been there and no doubt left something behind to act as a signal. Will you come, captain?"

"Right you are. It's a queer thing, though: I feel frightened!"

"What of?" asked Don Luis, who was plucky enough himself to understand this presentiment.

"Of what we shall see."

"My dear sir, there may be nothing there!"

Each of them switched on his pocket-lamp and felt the handle of his revolver. They crossed the plank between the sh.o.r.e and the boat. A few steps downwards brought them to the cabin. The door was locked.

"Hi, mate! Open this, will you?"

There was no reply. They now set about breaking it down, which was no easy matter, for it was ma.s.sive and quite unlike an ordinary cabin-door.

At last it gave way.

"By Jingo!" said Don Luis, who was the first to go in. "I didn't expect this!"

"What?"

"Look. The woman whom they called Gregoire. She seems to be dead."

She was lying back on a little iron bedstead, with her man's blouse open at the top and her chest uncovered. Her face still bore an expression of extreme terror. The disordered appearance of the cabin suggested that a furious struggle had taken place.

"I was right. Here, by her side, are the clothes she wore at Mantes. But what's the matter, captain?"

Patrice had stifled a cry:

"There . . . opposite . . . under the window . . ."

It was a little window overlooking the river. The panes were broken.

"Well?" asked Don Luis. "What? Yes, I believe some one's been thrown out that way."

"The veil . . . that blue veil," stammered Patrice, "is her nurse's veil . . . Coralie's. . . ."

Don Luis grew vexed:

"Nonsense! Impossible! n.o.body knew her address."

"Still . . ."

"Still what? You haven't written to her? You haven't telegraphed to her?"

"Yes . . . I telegraphed to her . . . from Mantes."

"What's that? Oh, but look here. This is madness! You don't mean that you really telegraphed?"

"Yes, I do."

"You telegraphed from the post-office at Mantes?"

"Yes."

"And was there any one in the post-office?"

"Yes, a woman."

"What woman? The one who lies here, murdered?"

"Yes."

"But she didn't read what you wrote?"

"No, but I wrote the telegram twice over."

"And you threw the first draft anywhere, on the floor, so that any one who came along. . . . Oh, really, captain, you must confess . . . !"

But Patrice was running towards the car and was already out of ear-shot.

Half an hour after, he returned with two telegrams which he had found on Coralie's table. The first, the one which he had sent, said:

"All well. Be easy and stay indoors. Fondest love.

"CAPTAIN PATRICE."

The second, which had evidently been despatched by Simeon, ran as follows:

"Events taking serious turn. Plans changed. Coming back. Expect you nine o'clock this evening at the small door of your garden.

"CAPTAIN PATRICE."