“He has,” answered Ernest. “On that fatal night when Thorne entered the Rooms to change the notes I met him, and although we had had a few high words in the Café de Paris on the previous day, he approached me, asking my pardon, which I readily gave. He then inquired whether it was really true that Miss Rosselli had been engaged to me. I replied in the affirmative, and he then said that he did not intend to meet her again, but should leave for Paris in the morning. I tried to dissuade him, but his only reply was ‘She loves you still, my dear fellow. She can never forget you. Of that I’m certain.’ Then he left, and travelled to Nice without further word to her. Arrived at the hotel, he went straight to her sitting-room and sat down to write her a letter of farewell. He commenced one, but destroyed it. This was afterwards found in the room. Then, just as he was about to commence a second letter, you--you, Julie Fournereau--entered, killed him, and stole the notes which you knew he carried in his pockets!” “How did I kill him?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger. “You yourself know that best.” “Ah! And Jean Laumont told of this elaborate piece of fiction, did he? It is amusing--very amusing!” At word from the chief detective one of the officers went forth. We heard Laumont’s name shouted loudly outside the room, and a few moments later he was ushered in by two officers. He drew back in quick surprise on seeing us, but in an instant the woman flew at him in fury. “You have told them!” she shrieked. “You have led them to believe that I murdered the American at Nice--you have declared that it was I who gave you the notes--I who killed him! You miserable cur!” His countenance fell. Indignation had in an instant given place to fear. “And did you not give me the notes?” he inquired. “Why, there are at least two men in yonder room who were present when you handed them to me.” “I do not deny that,” she responded. “I deny that I killed him.” “Then who did?” “Who did?” she shrieked. “Who did? Why, you, yourself!” “You lie!” he cried fiercely, his face ashen pale. “I would have told them nothing,” she went on quickly. “I would have allowed them to arrest me and afterwards discover their mistake, were it not that you had endeavored to give me into their hands in order to save yourself. No, my dear friend, Julie Fournereau is loyal only to those who are loyal to her, as many have before found out to their cost. I would have saved you had you not led the police here to raid my house, to arrest my guests, and to hurry me away to prison for a crime that I did not commit. But listen! You deny the murder of the young American. Well, shall I relate all that occurred?” “Tell them what untruths you like,” he growled. “You cannot harm me.” “Yes, madame,” cried old Mr. Keppel. “Tell us all that you know. We are determined now to get to the bottom of this affair.”