As he and the inspector drove slowly back from the village, they saw the figures of Sir Clinton and Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux sauntering across the sands just below high-tide mark; and in a few moments the car came level with the walkers. Sir Clinton waved his arm, and Wendover and Armadale got out and walked down the beach. “This is Inspector Armadale, Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux,” the chief constable said, as they came up. “He wants to ask you some questions about Friday night, when you were at that rock over there.” He pointed to Neptune's seat as he spoke. Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux seemed completely taken by surprise. For a moment or two she stood glancing uneasily from one to another; and her eyes showed something more than a tinge of fear. “I am much surprised, Sir Clinton,” she said at last, her accent coming out more markedly than usual in her nervous voice. “I had supposed that you were friendly to me; and now it appears that, without making a seeming of it, you have been leading me into what you call an English police-trap, isn't it? That is not good of you.” Armadale had picked up his cue from Sir Clinton's words. “I'm afraid I must ask you to answer my questions, ma'am,” he said, with a certain politeness. Obviously he was by no means sure of his ground. Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux eyed him in silence for some moments. “What is it that you desire to know?” she demanded finally. Before Armadale could formulate a question, Sir Clinton intervened. “I think, madame, that it will make things easier for us all if I tell you that the inspector is preparing a case against someone else. He needs your deposition to support his charge. That is the whole truth, so far as he is concerned. You need not have any fears, provided that you tell us all that you know about Friday night.” Wendover noticed the double meaning which might be attached to Sir Clinton's words; but he could not feel sure whether the chief constable wished to deceive or merely to reassure his witness. Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux's face cleared slightly as she grasped the meaning of Sir Clinton's speech. “If such is the case,” she said cautiously, “I might recall to myself some of the things which happened.” Armadale seemed a trifle suspicious at this guarded offer, but he proceeded to put some questions. “You knew this man Staveley, ma'am?” “Nicholas Staveley? Yes, I knew him; I had known him for a long time.” Sir Clinton interposed again. “Perhaps you would prefer to tell us what you know of him in your own words, madame. It would be easier for us if you would do so.” Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux nodded her agreement. She seemed to have conquered her nervousness.