On a couch, propped up with cushions, and attended by Dr. Durand, lay a tall, striking-looking woman. She was middle-aged, and her once dark hair was now almost entirely silvered, but the intense vitality and strength of her personality would have made itself felt anywhere. You knew at once that you were in the presence of what the French call “_une maitresse femme___.” She greeted us with a dignified inclination of the head. “Pray be seated, monsieurs.” We took chairs, and the magistrate’s clerk established himself at a round table. “I hope, madame,” began M. Hautet, “that it will not distress you unduly to relate to us what occurred last night?” “Not at all, monsieur. I know the value of time, if these scoundrelly assassins are to be caught and punished.” “Very well, madame. It will fatigue you less, I think, if I ask you questions and you confine yourself to answering them. At what time did you go to bed last night?” “At half-past nine, monsieur. I was tired.” “And your husband?” “About an hour later, I fancy.” “Did he seem disturbed—upset in any way?” “No, not more than usual.” “What happened then?” “We slept. I was awakened by a hand being pressed over my mouth. I tried to scream out, but the hand prevented me. There were two men in the room. They were both masked.” “Can you describe them at all, madame?” “One was very tall, and had a long black beard, the other was short and stout. His beard was reddish. They both wore hats pulled down over their eyes.” “H’m,” said the magistrate thoughtfully, “too much beard, I fear.” “You mean they were false?” “Yes, madame. But continue your story.” “It was the short man who was holding me. He forced a gag into my mouth, and then bound me with rope hand and foot. The other man was standing over my husband. He had caught up my little dagger paper-knife from the dressing-table and was holding it with the point just over his heart. When the short man had finished with me, he joined the other, and they forced my husband to get up and accompany them into the dressing-room next door. I was nearly fainting with terror, nevertheless I listened desperately. “They were speaking in too low a tone for me to hear what they said. But I recognized the language, a bastard Spanish such as is spoken in some parts of South America. They seemed to be demanding something from my husband, and presently they grew angry, and their voices rose a little. I think the tall man was speaking. ‘You know what we want!’ he said. ‘_The secret!___ Where is it?’ I do not know what my husband answered, but the other replied fiercely: ‘You lie! We know you have it. Where are your keys?’