LITMIR.BIZ

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proved beyond doubt that she had actually strangled herself. The marks on her neck were those of her own fingers. A method of suicide which, though not physically impossible, must have necessitated terrific muscular strength and almost superhuman will power. What had driven the girl to such straits has never been found out. Of course her mental balance must always have been precarious. Still, there it is. The curtain has been rung down for ever on the mystery of Felicie Bault.’

      It was then that the man in the far corner laughed.

      The other three men jumped as though shot. They had totally forgotten the existence of the fourth amongst them. As they stared towards the place where he sat, still huddled in his overcoat, he laughed again.

      ‘You must excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, in perfect English that had, nevertheless, a foreign flavour.

      He sat up, displaying a pale face with a small jet-black moustache.

      ‘Yes, you must excuse me,’ he said, with a mock bow. ‘But really! in science, is the last word ever said?’

      ‘You know something of the case we have been discussing?’ asked the doctor courteously.

      ‘Of the case? No. But I knew her.’

      ‘Felicie Bault?’

      ‘Yes. And Annette Ravel also. You have not heard of Annette Ravel, I see? And yet the story of the one is the story of the other. Believe me, you know nothing of Felicie Bault if you do not also know the history of Annette Ravel.’

      He drew out his watch and looked at it.

      ‘Just half an hour before the next stop. I have time to tell you the story—that is, if you care to hear it?’

      ‘Please tell it to us,’ said the doctor quietly.

      ‘Delighted,’ said the Canon. ‘Delighted.’

      Sir George Durand merely composed himself in an attitude of keen attention.

      ‘My name, gentlemen,’ began their strange travelling companion, ‘is Raoul Letardeau. You have spoken just now of an English lady, Miss Slater, who interested herself in works of charity. I was born in that Brittany fishing village and when my parents were both killed in a railway accident it was Miss Slater who came to the rescue and saved me from the equivalent of your English workhouse. There were some twenty children under her care, girls and boys. Amongst these children were Felicie Bault and Annette Ravel. If I cannot make you understand the personality of Annette, gentlemen, you will understand nothing. She was the child of what you call a “fille de joie” who had died of consumption abandoned by her lover. The mother had been a dancer, and Annette, too, had the desire to dance. When I saw her first she was eleven years old, a little shrimp of a thing with eyes that alternately mocked and promised—a little creature all fire and life. And at once—yes, at once—she made me her slave. It was “Raoul, do this for me.” “Raoul, do that for me.” And me, I obeyed. Already I worshipped her, and she knew it.

      ‘We would go down to the shore together, we three—for Felicie would come with us. And there Annette would pull off her shoes and stockings and dance on the sand. And then when she sank down breathless, she would tell us of what she meant to do and to be.

      ‘“See you, I shall be famous. Yes, exceedingly famous. I will have hundreds and thousands of silk stockings—the finest silk. And I shall live in an exquisite apartment. All my lovers shall be young and handsome as well as being rich. And when I dance all Paris shall come to see me. They will yell and call and shout and go mad over my dancing. And in the winters I shall not dance. I shall go south to the sunlight. There are villas there with orange trees. I shall have one of them. I shall lie in the sun on silk cushions, eating oranges. As for you, Raoul, I will never forget you, however rich and famous I shall be. I will protect you and advance your career. Felicie here shall be my maid—no, her hands are too clumsy. Look at them, how large and coarse they are.”

      ‘Felicie would grow angry at that. And then Annette would go on teasing her.

      ‘“She is so ladylike, Felicie—so elegant, so refined. She is a princess in disguise—ha, ha.”

      ‘“My father and mother were married, which is more than yours were,” Felicie would growl out spitefully.

      ‘“Yes, and your father killed your mother. A pretty thing, to be a murderer’s daughter.”

      ‘“Your father left your mother to rot,” Felicie would rejoin.

      ‘“Ah! yes.” Annette became thoughtful. “Pauvre Maman. One must keep strong and well. It is everything to keep strong and well.”

      ‘“I am as strong as a horse,” Felicie boasted.

      ‘And indeed she was. She had twice the strength of any other girl in the Home. And she was never ill.

      ‘But she was stupid, you comprehend, stupid like a brute beast. I often wondered why she followed Annette round as she did. It was, with her, a kind of fascination. Sometimes, I think, she actually hated Annette, and indeed Annette was not kind to her. She jeered at her slowness and stupidity, and baited her in front of the others. I have seen Felicie grow quite white with rage. Sometimes I have thought that she would fasten her fingers round Annette’s neck and choke the life out of her. She was not nimble-witted enough to reply to Annette’s taunts, but she did learn in time to make one retort which never failed. That was a reference to her own health and strength. She had learned (what I had always known) that Annette envied her her strong physique, and she struck instinctively at the weak spot in her enemy’s armour.

      ‘One day Annette came to me in great glee.

      ‘“Raoul,” she said. “We shall have fun today with that stupid Felicie. We shall die of laughing.”

      ‘“What are you going to do?”

      ‘“Come behind the little shed, and I will tell you.”

      ‘It seemed that Annette had got hold of some book. Part of it she did not understand, and indeed the whole thing was much over her head. It was an early work on hypnotism.

      ‘“A bright object, they say. The brass knob of my bed, it twirls round. I made Felicie look at it last night. ‘Look at it steadily,’ I said. ‘Do not take your eyes off it.’ And then I twirled it. Raoul, I was frightened. Her eyes looked so queer—so queer. ‘Felicie, you will do what I say always,’ I said. ‘I will do what you say always, Annette,’ she answered. And then—and then—I said: ‘Tomorrow you will bring a tallow candle out into the playground at twelve o’clock and start to eat it. And if anyone asks you, you will say that is it the best galette you ever tasted.’ Oh! Raoul, think of it!”

      ‘“But she’ll never do such a thing,” I objected.

      ‘“The book says so. Not that I can quite believe it—but, oh! Raoul, if the book is all true, how we shall amuse ourselves!”

      ‘I, too, thought the idea very funny. We passed word round to the comrades and at twelve o’clock we were all in the playground. Punctual to the minute, out came Felicie with a stump of candle in her hand. Will you believe me, Messieurs, she began solemnly to nibble at it? We were all in hysterics! Every now and then one or other of the children would go up to her and say solemnly: “It is good, what you eat there, eh, Felicie?” And she would answer: “But, yes, it is the best galette I ever tasted.” And then we would shriek with laughter. We laughed at last so loud that the noise seemed to wake up Felicie to a realization of what she was doing. She blinked her eyes in a puzzled way, looked at the candle, then at us. She passed her hand over her forehead.

      ‘“But what is it that I do here?” she muttered.

      ‘“You are eating a candle,” we screamed.

      ‘“I made you do it. I made you do it,” cried Annette, dancing about.

      ‘Felicie stared for a moment. Then she went slowly up to Annette.

      ‘“So it is you—it

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