The landau jogged into Geneva; the motor turned and sped back over the fifty miles of empty road to Aix.
As the motor-car rolled away, courage returned for a moment to Celia.
The man--the murderer--had gone.

She was alone with Adele Rossignol in a carriage moving no faster than an ordinary trot.

Her ankles were free, the gag had been taken from her lips.

If only she could free her hands and choose a moment when Adele was off her guard she might open the door and spring out on to the road.

She saw Adele draw down the blinds of the carriage, and very carefully, very secretly, Celia began to work her hands behind her.