November 23, 1916 
LAND & WATER 
19 
Only . . . only, as I knew that you left the hospital at 
seven o'clock every evening, and that you went along the 
Rue Pierre-Charron, I was justihed, wasn't I, in believing .'' " 
The captain stopped. The girl reflected, with a thoughtful 
air. Presently she asked : 
Why didn't you warn me ? " 
" Warn you ! " he exclaimed. " And, if, after all, it wasn't 
you ? Why alarm you ? And, if, on the other hand, it was 
you, why put you on your guard ? After the attempt had 
failed, your enemies would have laid another trap tor you ; 
and wc, i>ot knowing of it, would have been unable to prevent 
it. No, the best thing was to accept the fight. I enrolled a 
littk band of your former patients who were being treated at 
t he home ; and, as the friend whom I was expected to meet 
happened to live in the square, here, in this house, I asked 
him to place his rooms at my disposal from six to nine o'clock. 
That's what I did, Little Mother Coralie. And now that you 
know as much as I do, what do you think of it ? 
She gave him her hand : 
1 think you have saved me from an unknown danger that 
looks like a very great one ; and I thank you." 
" No, no," he said. " I can accept no thanks. I was so 
glad to have succeeded ! What 1 want to know is your opinion 
of the business itself ? " 
Without a second's hesitation, she replied : 
■' I have none. Not a word, not an incident, in all that you 
have tokl roe, suggests the least idea to me." 
You have no enemies, to your knowledge ? 
" Personally, no." 
" What about that man to whom your two assailants were 
tu hand you over and who says that he knows you ? 
" Doesn't every woman," she said, with a slight blush, 
" come across men who pursue her more or less openly,? 1 
I an't tell wlx) it is." 
The captain was silent for a while and then went on : 
" When all is said, our only hope of clearing up the matter 
Jies in questioning our prisoner. If he refuses to answer, I 
shall hand him over to the pohce, who will know how to get to 
the bottom of the business." 
The girl gave a start : 
" Th'j police ? " 
" Well, of course. What would you have me do with the 
fellow ? He doesn't belong to me. He belongs to the 
police." 
No, no, no! " she exclaimed, excitedly. " Not on any 
account! What, have my Ufe gone into? . . . 'Have 
to appear before the magistrate ? . . . Have my name 
mixed up in all this? . . ." 
" And yet. Little Mother Coralie, I can't. . . ." 
" Oh, 1 beg, I beseech you. as my friend, find some way out 
of it, but don't have me talked about ! I don't want to be 
talked about ! " 
The captain looked at her, somewhat surprised to see her 
in such a state of agitation, and said : 
" You shan't be talked about. Little Mother Coralie, I 
promise you." 
" Then what will you do with that man ? 
" Well," be said, with a laugh, " I shall begin by asking 
him politely if he will condescend to answer my questions ; 
t hen thank him for his civil/ behaviour to you ; and lastly 
beg him to be good enough to go away." 
He rose ; 
" Do you wish to see him. Little Mother Coralie ? " 
" No," she said, " I am so tired : If you don't vvant me, 
question him by yourself. You can tell me about it after- 
wards. . ." 
She seemed quite exhausted by all this fresh excitement and 
>train, added to all those which ah-eady rendered her life as 
a nurse s® hard. The captain did not insist and went out, 
'losing the door of the drawing-room after him. 
She heard him saying : 
■' Well, Ya-Bon, have you kept a good watch. No news? 
.\nd how's your prisoner ? . . . Ah, there you are, my 
fine fellow ! Have you got your breath back ? Oh, I know 
Va-Bon'shandisabitheavy ! . . . What's this? Won't 
vou answer? . . . Hallo, what's happened? Hanged 
if 1 don't tliink. . . ." 
A cry escaped him. The girl ran to the hall. She met the 
I aptaiii, who tried to bar her way. 
■' Don't come," he said, in great agitation. " What's the 
U^e ! " 
" But you're hurt ! " she exclaimed. 
" I ? " 
" There's blood on your shirt-cuff." 
" So there is, but it's nothing : it's the man's blood that 
must have stained me." 
" Then he was wounded ? 
" Yes, or at least his mouth was bleeding. Some blood- 
" Whv, surely Ya-Bon didn't grip as hard as that ? " 
" It wasn't Ya-Bon." 
" Then who was it ? " 
" His accomplices." 
" Did they come back ? " 
" Yes ; and they've strangled him." 
" But, it's not possible ! " 
She pushed by and went towards the prisoner. He did 
not move. His face had the pallor of death. Round his 
neck was a red-silk string, twisted very thin and with a 
buckle at either end." 
CHAPTER II 
Right Hand and Left Leg. 
ONE rogue less in the world. Little Mother Coralie ! 
cried Patrice Belval, after he had led the girl back 
to the drawing-room and made a rapid investigation 
with Ya-B( n. " Remember his name — I found 
it engraved on his watcl> — Mustapha Rovaliof, the name of a 
rogue ! 
He spoke gaily, with no emotion in his voice, and con 
tinned, as he walked up and down the room : 
" You and I, Little Motlier Coralie, who have witnessed b(j 
many tragedies and seen so many good fellows die, need not 
wastetears over the death of Mustapha Rovali of or his murder 
by his accompHces. Not even a funeral oration, eh ? Ya 
Bon has taken him under his arm, waited until the square 
was clear and carried him to the Rue Brignoles, with orders '^<< 
fling the gentleman ever the railings into the garden of tlu 
Musee Galliera. The raihngs are high. But Ya-Bon s right 
hand knows no obstacles. And so. Little Mother Coralie, 
the matter is buried. You won't be talked about ; and, this 
time, I claim a word of thanks." 
He stopped to laugh : 
" A word of thanks, but no compliments. By Jove, 1 
don't make much of a warder ! It was clever the way those 
beggars snatched my prisoner. Why didn't I foresee that 
your other assailant, the man in the grey felt hat, would go 
and tell the third, who was waiting in his motor, and that they 
would both come back together to rescue their companion r 
.^nd they came back. And, while you and I were chatting, 
they must have forced the servants' entrance, passed througii 
the kitchen, come to the little door between the pantry and 
the hall and pushed it open. There, close by them, lay then 
man, still unconscious and firmly bound, on his sofa. What 
were they to do ? It was impossible to get him out of the 
hall without alarming Ya-Bon. And yet, if they didn't 
release him, he would speak, give away his accomplices and 
ruin a carefully prepared plan. So one of the two must have 
leant forward stealthily, put out his arm, thrown his string 
round that throat which Ya-Bon had already handled pretty 
roughly, gathered the buckles at the two ends and pulled, 
pulled, quietly, until death came. Not a sound. Not a sigh. 
The whole operation performed in silence. We come, we 
kill and we go away. Good-night. The trick is done and 
our friend won't talk." 
Captain Belval's merriment increased : 
" Our friend won't talk," he repeated, " and tlie police, 
whdn they find his body to-morrow morning inside a railed 
garden, won't understand a word of the business. Nor we 
either, Little Mother Corahe ; and we shall never know why 
those men tried to kidnap you. It's only too true ! 1 may 
not be up to much as a warder, but I'm beneath contempt as a 
detective ! 
He continued to walk up and down the room. The fact 
that his leg or rather his calf had been amputated seemed 
hardly to inconvenience him ; and, as the joints of the knee 
and thigh-bone had retained their mobihty, there was at most 
a certain want of rhythm in the action of his hips and shoulders. 
Moreover, his tall figure tended t-o correct his lameness, which 
was reduced to insignificant proportions by the ease of his 
movements and the indifference with which he appeared to 
accept it. 
He had an open countenance, rather dark in colour, burnt 
by the sun and tanned by the weather, with an expression 
that was frank, cheerful and often bantering. He must have 
been between twenty-eight and thirty. His manner sug- 
gested that of the officers of the First Empire, to whom their 
life in camp imparted a special air which they subsequenth' 
brought into the ladies' drawing-rooms. 
He stopped to look at Corahe, whose shapely profile stooil 
out against the gleams from the fireplace. Then he came and 
sat beside her : 
" I know nothing about you," he said, softly. " At the 
hospital, the doctors and nurses call you Madame Coralie. 
Your patients prefer to say Little Mother. What is youi 
married or your maiden name ? Have you a husband or are 
you a widow ? Where do you five ? Nobody knows. You 
arrive cvcrv dav at the same time and you go away by the 
