“You have saved her life, monsieur!” cried Madame Bourrat in a tragic voice. She groaned. “Oh, what a scandal!”

“Yes, I have saved her,” replied Fandor as, panting with his exertions, he laid Elizabeth Dollon fiat on a garden seat... “But from whom?... It is certainly not an attempted suicide! There is some mystery behind this business: it’s a clear theatrical performance, arranged simply for effect, and to mislead us,” declared Fandor. Then, turning to the bankers, he said courteously, but with an air of command:

“Please pass information to the superintendent of police at once... the nearest police station, you understand!

Madame,” he added, addressing the overwhelmed Madame Bourrat, “you will be good enough to look after Mademoiselle Dollon, will you not?... Take every care of her. There is not much to be done – however I have seen many cases of asphyxia: she will regain consciousness now, in a few minutes.”

Then, looking at the manservant, he said in a sharp tone: “Come with me! You will mount guard at the door of Mademoiselle Elizabeth’s room, whilst I try to discover some clues, before the police arrive on the scene.” To tell the truth, the young journalist felt embarrassed at the idea that Elizabeth Dollon was about to regain consciousness, and that he would have to submit to being thanked by her, when she knew who had saved her.

Accompanied by the manservant, he went quickly upstairs and into Elizabeth’s room.

“You must not enter Mademoiselle Dollon’s room on any account!” said Fandor sternly. “It is quite enough that I should run the risk of effacing any – probably very slight – clues which the delinquents have left behind them.”

“But, monsieur, if the young lady put the tubing between her lips, it must have been because she wished to destroy herself...”

“On the face of it you are right, my good fellow. But, when one is right, one is often wrong!”

Without more ado, Fandor started on a minute inspection of the room. Elizabeth had but stated the truth when she wrote that it had been thoroughly ransacked. Only her toilet things had been spared; but some books had been taken from their shelves and thrown about the floor, their pages crumpled and spoilt. He noticed the emptied trunk: its contents – copy books, letters, pieces of music – had been roughly dealt with. On the mantelpiece, in full view, lay Elizabeth’s jewellery – some rings and broaches, a small gold watch, a purse.

“A very queer affair,” murmured Fandor, who was kneeling in the middle of the room, rummaging, searching, and not finding any clue. He rose, carefully examined all the woodwork, but found nothing incriminating. He examined the lock of the unhinged door, which had subsided on the floor. The lock was intact, the bolt moved freely: only the screws of the hinges had given way.

“That,” thought Fandor, “is probably owing to the force of my thrust!”