Madame is distracted when she learns of his
visit; it opens up her bleeding heart afresh, for she and her husband
were _intime_ with the dead judge, and deeply, terribly, they deplore his
so dreadful end. I see Madame cry, and I say to myself I will not let
this little police agent spoil her beauty and give her the migraine: his
visits must be, shall be, prevented. I have heard of the so great and
good Monsieur Crewe, and I will go and see him. We will--as you say in
your English way--put our heads together, this famous detective and I,
and we will find some way of--how do you call it?--circumventing this
police agent so that my dear Madame shall cry no more. Monsieur Crewe, I
am here, and I beg of you to help me."
Crewe listened to this outburst with inward surprise but impassive
features. Apparently the police had come to the conclusion that they had
blundered in arresting Birchill for the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks,
and had recommenced inquiries with a view to bringing the crime home to
somebody else. He did not know whether their suspicions were now directed
against Mrs. Holymead, but they had conducted their preliminary inquiries
so clumsily as to arouse her fears that they did.
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