"And I'm
pretty sure you never will, because the less I talk or think about that
person the better for me. That part of the story has nothing to do with
the case. There's only this queer impression of mine. And I had a weird
feeling as if it were my bounden duty to see that this little girl
wasn't victimized by an unscrupulous woman. So I did what I could."
"I should think you did!" exclaimed the other. "I couldn't have done as
much. Poor Madame d'Ambre."
"Her real name's probably the French for Smith, without a 'de' in it,
unless it's to spell devil. If she's a widow, she's a grassy one. Her
game is to be found crying on the Casino terrace by moonlight,
preparatory to drinking poison, because she's tired of life and its
temptations. If it's a young lieutenant just off his ship for a flutter
at Monte, or some other lamb of that fleeciness, he's soon shorn.
There's quite a good living in it, I understand. She always contrives to
make the youngsters believe her an innocent angel, whom they must try to
save."
"But you seem to have been on in that act. Was it a moonlight scene?"
"Plenty of moonshine--and clear enough for me to see through the
angelhood to the designing minxhood. The poison was water, coloured, I
should think, with cochineal, and pleasantly flavoured with a little
bitter almond. But--well, one sees through people sometimes, as if they
were jelly-fish, and yet is a little sorry for them just because they
_are_ jelly-fish, stranded on the beach.
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