“You have done admirably, Mary. I came to fetch you. But now that this young blackguard is thoroughly outwitted, we may as well go, for our work here is done.” The Marquis did not even glance at her as she slightly bowed her head to him, took leave of Maître Vendôme, and finally walked out of the château with me. As soon as we were out in the open air I begged for an explanation. “Maître Vendôme has Mademoiselle’s will,” she replied. “She had enjoined him to read it in the château to-day in the presence of the three trustees appointed for the poor of Porhoët, who inherit all her wealth.” “And the Terhovens?” I asked. “They’ve got his confession back,” she said dryly, “and they will receive an annuity from the trustees.” “And you knew this all along?” I rejoined somewhat reproachfully. “Yes, so did the Curé, but Mademoiselle made me swear a most solemn oath not to reveal her secret even to you; she was so afraid of the machinations of the Terhovens. You see,” continued Lady Molly, smiling at my eagerness, “Miss de Genneville possessed the ancient key wherewith she could open the clock case at any time. Obviously, even so perfect a piece of mechanism might go wrong, when examination and re-adjustment of the works would be necessary. After the family conclave wherein she had announced that her will was hidden in the clock, I--at my next interview with her--begged her to modify this idea, to send her will to her solicitor, but to leave the Terhovens under the impression that it was still lying in its strange hiding place. At first she refused to listen to me or to discuss the subject, but I am happy to say that I finally succeeded in persuading her, with what result you already know.” “But poor Monsieur le Curé!” I ejaculated. Her bright eyes gleamed with merriment. “Oh! that was a final little hoax. He himself, poor dear, was afraid lest he might blurt out the whole thing. His illness was partly a sham, and he is quite all right again now, but the doctor at the Brest hospital is a great friend of his, and is keeping him there until all this business has blown over.” “I was the only one who was kept in the dark,” I concluded ruefully. “Yes, Mary, dear,” said my dear lady, gently; “it was a promise, remember. But I never thought that we should get so much excitement outside our own professional work.” It certainly had been a non-professional experience; but here, too, as in the detection of crime, her keen intuition had proved more than a match for an unscrupulous blackguard, and certainly on the 20th day of September last I lived through the most exciting ten minutes of my life. VII. A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY