The First Move

On the Friday before the crime was committed Mme. Dauvray and
Celia dined at the Villa des Fleurs. While they were drinking
their coffee Harry Wethermill joined them. He stayed with them
until Mme. Dauvray was ready to move, and then all three walked
into the baccarat rooms together. But there, in the throng of
people, they were separated.

Harry Wethermill was looking carefully after Celia, as a good
lover should. He had, it seemed, no eyes for any one else; and it
was not until a minute or two had passed that the girl herself
noticed that Mme. Dauvray was not with them.

"We will find her easily," said Harry.

"Of course," replied Celia.

"There is, after all, no hurry," said Wethermill, with a laugh;
"and perhaps she was not unwilling to leave us together."

Celia dimpled to a smile.

"Mme. Dauvray is kind to me," she said, with a very pretty
timidity.

"And yet more kind to me," said Wethermill in a low voice which
brought the blood into Celia's cheeks.

But even while he spoke he soon caught sight of Mme. Dauvray
standing by one of the tables; and near to her was Adele Tace.
Adele had not yet made Mme. Dauvray's acquaintance; that was
evident. She was apparently unaware of her; but she was gradually
edging towards her. Wethermill smiled, and Celia caught the smile.

"What is it?" she asked, and her head began to turn in the
direction of Mme. Dauvray.

"Why, I like your frock--that's all," said Wethermill at once; and
Celia's eyes went down to it.