did. She did not wish this Markworth to know that she was there, or to

meet him until after he had landed and gone home; she had her reasons."

"Mademoiselle then had _Monsieur_ under surveillance?"

"Well, they might call it spying if they liked. She had watched this Markworth enter the house already pointed out in the Rue Montmartre. She had then herself gone to the Hotel du Cote d'Or, and secured an _appartement_. After this she had returned to the Rue Montmartre, and asked at the house of the Mere Cliquelle to see M. Markworth. She had been refused admittance, although she knew he was _chez lui_. In carrying out her purpose of watching his movements, she had gone over to a cafe on the opposite side of the street, from the upper room of which she was able to observe the house at _Numero Sept_. She watched there until late in the afternoon--evening it was, for it was after seven-- nearly eight o'clock she thought. At that time she then saw Markworth come out of the house along with his wife--the girl Susan Hartshorne, to whom she had before referred."

"Can you swear it was her?"

"_Je le jure_" responded Miss Kingscott, and then went on with her deposition. She went out from her place of observation quickly after them. They went in the direction of Ingouville, up the heights; Markworth walking by the side of his wife, or reputed wife, and she, Miss Kingscott some little distance behind them. She did not speak to them, and did not think that they knew of her propinquity. She let them get on some distance ahead of her, although she still followed and kept them in sight. When they got on the heights they stopped walking, and she hid herself behind a projecting wall. She feared some mischief, and watched to see what Markworth was going to do. Presently she heard his voice raised as if in anger, and then the voice of the girl Susan as if in supplication. She then heard a scream from the unfortunate girl. She, Miss Kingscott, rushed forward to help her. She was too late. _Helas_! She saw this Markworth, this villain, throw the girl over the precipice.

"You saw him throw her over?"

"Yes, I swear it. I then tried to stop the murderer, but he escaped from my hands, knocked me senseless with a blow--here is the cut on my forehead now--and he got off, heaven only knows where. I had cried, `_a voleur_' and `_assassinat_' as loud as I could before I became insensible, but no one came to my help. When I recovered my consciousness I walked feebly down the path, and meeting a _sergent de ville_, told him all about the murder, but he arrested me, thinking, he says, I was drunk, and I was locked up in a cell till this evening, when the Chef released me, apologising for the mistake of his subordinate. I have only to add," observed Miss Kingscott, after she had finished answering the questions put to her, "that had it not been for this mistake on the part of your boasted _sergents de ville_, which could only have arisen from sheer stupidity, the murderer might never have got off."

"_C'est possible_!" said the judge, making a note against the name of the unfortunate guardian of the peace who had arrested the governess. "But Mademoiselle will recollect that according to her statement it was several hours after the escape of her assailant that she was thus _arretee_. Call the next witnesses!"

And the interrogatory went on.

The Mere Cliquelle and her husband, "_son petit bon homme_," as she called him, were then examined to the same purport as already detailed by the Chef to Miss Kingscott, Dechemal corroborating what had been previously told him, and certifying to their arrest by him, and importation before the Juge de Paix.

Auguste, the other of the Chefs inquisitors, had little to tell. He had searched the _cabarets_ and hotels, and enquired at the office of the Steamboat Company, and along the quays. No Englishman, or any one else resembling Markworth's description had been seen or heard of since yesterday evening, or had taken passage for England.

This was all the evidence that could be obtained, and on it Monsieur le Juge de Paix framed the _acte d'accusation_, by which the charge of wilful murder was established against Markworth, and a warrant issued for his arrest.

The police, therefore, acting under the orders of the Chef, were on the alert.

Directions were also given to the fishermen and sailors about the quays to look out for a body in the river: the Seine was then dragged with better effect, for the very next day the surmises of the Judge and the Chef were set at rest.

The body of a fair woman, with light brown hair and about twenty-one or twenty-two years of age, was discovered floating beneath the battlements of the centre quay. The features were nearly indistinguishable from the action of the water or the attacks of crustacea, but the remains of a crimson merino dress still clung around the body, which Miss Kingscott immediately recognised and identified as that of Susan Hartshorne. The Mere Cliquelle and her husband were also certain that the remains were those of the poor English lady, although neither were positive about the dress. Madame Cliquelle said that she had never observed any particular colour in the dress of Madame (Miss Kingscott had testified in her deposition that Susan Hartshorne always wore robes of bright hue, different, as a rule, from anyone else), but she might have worn this particular dress and gone out in it that evening without her having noticed it. _Helas_! however, what need had they to be particular about a worthless dress when they had the body of the poor Madame before them! The Mere Cliquelle wept over the lifeless shell of humanity; and even her little husband shed tears as he recounted how he and _la pauvre belle ange Anglaise_ used to "spik Inglese togeders."

The afternoon of the same day, too, a fisherman from Honfleur communicated with the police, and gave evidence that about ten o'clock on the night of the murder he had conveyed an Englishman, answering in every respect to the description of Markworth, across from Havre to his own village: he had been out to sea and along the coast since then, and had consequently not heard of the inquiry before.

There was no doubt of this being Markworth, as the fisherman described him to a hair with two or three telling word-strokes. The landlord of the Auberge, also, where he had stopped at Honfleur, produced a torn envelope which had been carelessly dropped by his guest. It was addressed "Allynne Markworth, Esqr.;" that settled the question.

Two clear days, however, had passed; and although the object of their search was traced to Paris, all further clue of his track was lost, and where he had gone remained an unsolved problem.

The French police, with all their acuteness and _finesse_, in the exercise of which they are far ahead of our blundering English detectives (and those vile, social-inquisitorial dens of humbug and area-sneakishness called "Private Inquiry Offices," too) were at fault, and the game had to be given up. From some papers found amongst the things he had left behind him at the Rue Montmartre, it was surmised that Markworth had gone to America; a photograph of himself was also discovered, which he had had taken with one of his wife--it may be remembered that Markworth had shown a carte de visite of Susan to Mr Trump, when he had gone to the lawyers to tell of his marriage, and claim the reward for the missing girl. These photographs were carefully preserved by the police, and copies of Markworth's likeness despatched to various points to secure his arrest in case he put foot on French ground.

Nothing more could be done, however, by the Juge de Paix or the Chef. The machinery of justice had been set in motion; and although its wheels were greased it had to stop working; its _but_ was non-apparent.

The depositions and evidence of the witnesses, who were now released from surveillance, were preserved until the occasion should arise for their utility.

Miss Kingscott was a potent pursuer, but the prey had escaped her again: she had still to wait for vengeance.

In the meantime the body of the girl was kept for burial until word should be received from England,

The chief of the police had communicated with the mother of Markworth's victim, having written to the _veuve_ Hartshorne, according to the address given by Miss Kingscott; the latter personage had also sent her version of the affair to the widow lady's lawyers, and both were now awaiting response.