The Soul Scar: Detective Kennedy's Case. Arthur B. Reeve

led us down the hall, and soon we found Celeste, a young and remarkably beautiful girl.

      One could see traces of sorrow on her face, which was exceedingly, though not unpleasingly, pale. She was dressed in black, which heightened the pallor of her face and excited a feeling of mingled respect and interest. There was, however, a restless brilliancy of her eyes and a nervousness which was expressed by the constant motion of her slender fingers.

      She shrank from McCabe, and her confidence was not restored even after Kennedy had ordered him to leave us alone with her so that we might question her.

      "Oh, these horrible detectives!" she murmured. "It is terrible. They will drive me crazy. Pauvre, pauvre madame!"

      Kennedy had sought this opportunity to question her about Vail Wilford alone. But, as he plied her with questions, she had little to say either about him or about her mistress. She was evidently well trained.

      "Did you ever see Mr. Wilford or Mrs. Wilford with Mrs. Vina Lathrop?" asked Kennedy, suddenly.

      Celeste shook her head with a naïve stare.

      "Nevair."

      "But, madame—did she not know her?"

      Celeste merely shrugged.

      "Wasn't she jealous of Mr. Wilford—and some one?"

      Celeste regarded him a moment. Her quick mind seemed to race ahead toward the implication of the remark.

      "No—no—no!" cried Celeste, vehemently. "She was not jealous. She would never have done such a thing. She might have left monsieur—but—violence—nevair!"

      Kennedy continued with a few inconsequential questions. Then from a table in the room he picked up a magazine. As he ran over the pages he stopped before a picture of a dinner in a fashionable restaurant, such as delights the heart of the modern magazine illustrator to portray.

      He turned the picture around and held it before Celeste for just a few instants, perhaps ten seconds. Then he closed the magazine quickly.

      It seemed to me to be a purposeless action, but I was not surprised when Kennedy added, "Now tell me what you saw."

      Celeste by this time was quite overwhelming in her desire to please on anything but the quizzing about her mistress. Quickly she enumerated the objects, gradually slowing down as the number became exhausted.

      "Were there any flowers?" asked Kennedy.

      "Oh yes—and favors, too, you call them?"

      I could see no reason at all in the proceeding, yet I knew Kennedy too well to suppose that he had not some purpose.

      The questioning thus strangely over, Kennedy withdrew, leaving Celeste more mystified than ever.

      "Well," I exclaimed, "what was all that kindergarten stuff?"

      "That?" he explained. "It is known to criminologists as the 'Aussage test.' Just try it sometime when you get a chance. If there are, say, fifty objects in a picture, normally a person may recall perhaps twenty of them."

      "I see," I nodded. "A test of memory."

      "More than that," he replied. "You remember that, at the end, I suggested that she might have overlooked something? I mentioned an object—the flowers—likely to have been on the table. They were not there, as you might have observed if you had had the picture before you. That was a test of the susceptibility to suggestion of Celeste."

      By this time we were on the street and walking slowly back to the laboratory.

      "She may not mean to lie deliberately," concluded Kennedy, "but I'm afraid we'll have to get along without her in getting to the bottom of this case. There were no flowers there, yet in her anxiety to please she said there were, and even went farther and added favors, which were not there. You see, before we go any farther, we know that Celeste is unreliable, to say the least."