"The machinery of justice shall be at once set in motion!" said the Frenchman, grandiloquently, in the fashion of his countrymen. "And I?" "Mademoiselle will do me the honour of accompanying me to the Bureau of _Monsieur le Juge de Paix_, to make her deposition. But we must attend to other things first," saying which the Chef again touched the hand-bell that lay within easy reach on his table. The same officer appeared again as before. "Send Auguste and Dechemal to me at once." Enter two _mouchards_ in plain clothes. The Chef addressed the one he called Dechemal first--did anyone ever know the real name of a French spy?--"You went to that house in the Rue Montmartre just now, did you not?" "_Oui, Mon Chef_," he answered monosyllabically. "Well, go there again. Arrest the Mere Cliquelle and her husband, take them to the office of the Juge de Paix, and await me there." "Oui, Mon Chef,"--Exit first _mouchard_. "Auguste!" "Oui; Mon Chef." "Go down to the office of the English steam-boats. See what passengers leave this morning. Ask also along the quays if any boatman took any person or persons across to Honfleur, or any place adjoining, last night or this morning. Make enquiries, too, at the hotels and cabarets, if they have received any fresh lodgers since nine o'clock yesterday evening, and whom. Report to me at the Juge de Paix's in half an hour, or as soon as you can." "_Oui, Mon Chef_." Exit second _mouchard_, as stealthily as the other-- serpentine in movements both. "_Allons_, Mademoiselle," said the Chef, rising from his chair of office and bowing to Nemesis, "if you will follow me, we will now act our parts. The machinery of justice is already in motion." Clara Kingscott accompanied the functionary of the law, civil in every respect, out of his office and into the street. At his notification their steps were first directed up the hill to the spot where she pointed out as having confronted Markworth. The Chef busied himself with taking notes as deftly as any "chiel." She also indicated the place on the verge where she had seen Susan disappear. They then descended the pathway where she supposed the girl would have fallen. More keen observation and note taking on the part of the Chef. No apparent results however, for not a trace could be seen of anybody. Suddenly the Chef paused in the act of taking notes with one hand and pulling the ends of his waxed moustache with the fingers of the other. He perceived a piece of rag evidently torn off a dress, clinging to the rocks. It was dark crimson in colour, and was a piece of merino dyed that hue. He took it up triumphantly, and held it forth for Miss Kingscott's inspection. "_Voila_!" he exclaimed. The governess did "look there," and examined the fragment curiously; a glance of recognition flickered on her face, which the Chef at once perceived. "Ha!" he said, "you see something? You recognise the dress of your compatriot?" with much guttural rolling of his R's.