A tall, thin man of about forty-five years, dressed in a frock coat and a high silk hat, had just come round an angle of the drive and was moving slowly towards them.

He wore the soft, curling brown beard of one who has never used a razor on his chin, and had a narrow face with eyes of a very light grey, and a round bulging forehead.
"This is the Juge d'Instruction ?" asked Hanaud.
"Yes; M.Fleuriot," replied Louis Besnard in a whisper.
M.Fleuriot was occupied with his own thoughts, and it was not until Besnard stepped forward noisily on the gravel that he became aware of the group in the garden.
"This is M.Hanaud, of the Surete in Paris," said Louis Besnard.
M.Fleuriot bowed with cordiality.
"You are very welcome, M.Hanaud.You will find that nothing at the villa has been disturbed.

The moment the message arrived over the telephone that you were willing to assist us I gave instructions that all should be left as we found it.

I trust that you, with your experience, will see a way where our eyes find none." Hanaud bowed in reply.
"I shall do my best, M.Fleuriot.I can say no more," he said.
"But who are these gentlemen ?" asked Fleuriot, waking, it seemed, now for the first time to the presence of Harry Wethermill and Mr.Ricardo.
"They are both friends of mine," replied Hanaud.

"If you do not object I think their assistance may be useful.