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Who Robbed Madame


I had waited but a few minutes when she entered.

The tasteful cap surmounting the brown locks clustering in a pretty confusion of short curls about her forehead proclaimed her no longer young, though the fair blooming face and shapely form were far more suggestive of youth than of old age. Altogether, Madame Leroux was a lady of most attractive appearance.

She approached me with nervous haste, her eyes fixed on mine. “I sent for—you are—” she faltered almost inaudibly, and then paused in a pitiable state of agitation, her tender fingers slowly intertwining themselves, and her whole frame trembling.

“Detective Ashton,” I responded, hastily drawing forward a chair.Read More