"
He had now uncovered the slight figure of the little French modiste.
On the dress, instead of the profuse flow of blood which we had
expected to see, there was a single round spot. And in the white
marble skin of her breast was a little, nearly microscopic puncture,
directly over the heart.
"She must have died almost instantly," commented Kennedy, glancing
from the Apache weapon to the dead woman and back again. "Internal
hemorrhage. I suppose you have searched her effects. Have you
found anything that gives a hint among them?"
"No," replied the coroner doubtfully, "I can't say we have - unless
it is the bundle of letters from Pierre, the jeweller. They seem
to have been engaged, and yet the letters stopped abruptly, and,
well, from the tone of the last one from him I should say there was
a quarrel brewing."
An exclamation from Herndon followed. "The same notepaper and the
same handwriting as the anonymous letters," he cried.
But that was all. Go over the ground as Kennedy might he could find
nothing further than the coroner and Herndon had already revealed.
"About these people, Lang & Pierre," asked Craig thoughtfully when
we had left Mademoiselle's and were riding downtown to the customs
house with Herndon.
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