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THE MURDER ON THE LINKS
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She raised her veil—and I gasped. For, though as like her as two peas, this girl was not Cinderella! On the other hand, now that I saw her without the fair wig she had worn on the stage, I recognized her as the girl of the photograph in Jack Renauld’s room.
“You are the Juge d’Instruction, M. Hautet?” she queried.
“Yes, but I forbid—”
“My name is Bella Duveen. I wish to give myself up for the murder of Mr. Renauld.”
