“Yes,” said, the Superintendent gravely, “the Fakenham men report there are certainly two marks upon the chassis of her car that look like bullet ones”—he screwed up his eyes—“and there are other disturbing features as well about the case.”
“Tell me about it,” said Larose. “The wickedness of this world is always more interesting than the good.”
“Well, what happened was this,” said the Superintendent, “Lady Ardane, of Carmel Abbey”—he broke off—“have you ever heard of her?”
“Oh! yes,” replied Larose, “very beautiful and very rich; the widow of Sir Charles Ardane. I've seen her at Ascot.”
“That's she,” nodded the Superintendent, “a lovely woman, with red hair. Well, last night at half-past eight or thereabouts, when about a mile and a half from the Abbey, a man in another car shouted to
