Le dossier no. 113. English

  V

  While his whole past was the object of the most minute investigations,Prosper was in prison, in a secret cell.

  The two first days had not appeared very long.

  He had requested, and been granted, some sheets of paper, numbered,which he was obliged to account for; and he wrote, with a sort of rage,plans of defence and a narrative of justification.

  The third day he began to be uneasy at not seeing anyone except thecondemned prisoners who were employed to serve those confined in secretcells, and the jailer who brought him his food.

  "Am I not to be examined again?" he would ask.

  "Your turn is coming," the jailer invariably answered.

  Time passed; and the wretched man, tortured by the sufferings ofsolitary confinement which quickly breaks the spirit, sank into thedepths of despair.

  "Am I to stay here forever?" he moaned.

  No, he was not forgotten; for on Monday morning, at one o'clock, an hourwhen the jailer never came, he heard the heavy bolt of his cell pushedback.

  He ran toward the door.

  But the sight of a gray-headed man standing on the sill rooted him tothe spot.

  "Father," he gasped, "father!"

  "Your father, yes!"

  Prosper's astonishment at seeing his father was instantly succeeded by afeeling of great joy.

  A father is one friend upon whom we can always rely. In the hour ofneed, when all else fails, we remember this man upon whose knees we satwhen children, and who soothed our sorrows; and although he can in noway assist us, his presence alone comforts and strengthens.

  Without reflecting, Prosper, impelled by tender feeling, was about tothrow himself on his father's bosom.

  M. Bertomy harshly repulsed him.

  "Do not approach me!" he exclaimed.

  He then advanced into the cell, and closed the door. The father and sonwere alone together, Prosper heart-broken, crushed; M. Bertomy angry,almost threatening.

  Cast off by this last friend, by his father, the miserable young manseemed to be stupefied with pain and disappointment.

  "You too!" he bitterly cried. "You, you believe me guilty? Oh, father!"

  "Spare yourself this shameful comedy," interrupted M. Bertomy: "I knowall."

  "But I am innocent, father; I swear it by the sacred memory of mymother."

  "Unhappy wretch," cried M. Bertomy, "do not blaspheme!"

  He seemed overcome by tender thoughts of the past, and in a weak, brokenvoice, he added:

  "Your mother is dead, Prosper, and little did I think that the day wouldcome when I could thank God for having taken her from me. Your crimewould have killed her, would have broken her heart!"

  After a painful silence, Prosper said:

  "You overwhelm me, father, and at the moment when I need all my courage;when I am the victim of an odious plot."

  "Victim!" cried M. Bertomy, "victim! Dare you utter your insinuationsagainst the honorable man who has taken care of you, loaded you withbenefits, and had insured you a brilliant future! It is enough for youto have robbed him; do not calumniate him."

  "For pity's sake, father, let me speak!"

  "I suppose you would deny your benefactor's kindness. Yet you were atone time so sure of his affection, that you wrote me to hold myself inreadiness to come to Paris and ask M. Fauvel for the hand of his niece.Was that a lie too?"

  "No," said Prosper in a choked voice, "no."

  "That was a year ago; you then loved Mlle. Madeleine; at least you wroteto me that you--"

  "Father, I love her now, more than ever; I have never ceased to loveher."

  M. Bertomy made a gesture of contemptuous pity.

  "Indeed!" he cried, "and the thought of the pure, innocent girl whom youloved did not prevent your entering upon a path of sin. You loved her:how dared you, then, without blushing, approach her presence afterassociating with the shameless creatures with whom you were sointimate?"

  "For Heaven's sake, let me explain by what fatality Madeleine--"

  "Enough, monsieur, enough. I told you that I know everything. I saw M.Fauvel yesterday; this morning I saw the judge, and 'tis to his kindnessthat I am indebted for this interview. Do you know what mortificationI suffered before being allowed to see you? I was searched and made toempty all of my pockets, on suspicion of bringing you arms!"

  Prosper ceased to justify himself, but in a helpless, hopeless way,dropped down upon a seat.

  "I have seen your apartments, and at once recognized the proofs of yourcrime. I saw silk curtains hanging before every window and door, andthe walls covered with pictures. In my father's house the walls werewhitewashed; and there was but one arm-chair in the whole house, andthat was my mother's. Our luxury was our honesty. You are the firstmember of our family who has possessed Aubusson carpets; though, to besure, you are the first thief of our blood."

  At this last insult Prosper's face flushed crimson, but he remainedsilent and immovable.

  "But luxury is necessary now," continued M. Bertomy, becoming moreexcited and angry as he went on, "luxury must be had at any price. Youmust have the insolent opulence and display of an upstart, without beingan upstart. You must support worthless women who wear satin slipperslined with swan's-down, like those I saw in your rooms, and keepservants in livery--and you steal! And bankers no longer trust theirsafe-keys with anybody; and every day honest families are disgraced bythe discovery of some new piece of villainy."

  M. Bertomy suddenly stopped. He saw that his son was not in a conditionto hear any more reproaches.

  "But I will say no more," he said. "I came here not to reproach, butto, if possible, save the honor of our name, to prevent it from beingpublished in the papers bearing the names of thieves and murderers.Stand up and listen to me!"

  At the imperious tone of his father, Prosper arose. So many successiveblows had reduced him to a state of torpor.

  "First of all," began M. Bertomy, "how much have you remaining of thestolen three hundred and fifty thousand francs?"

  "Once more, father," replied the unfortunate man in a tone of hopelessresignation, "once more I swear I am innocent."

  "So I supposed you would say. Then our family will have to repair theinjury you have done M. Fauvel."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The day he heard of your crime, your brother-in-law brought me yoursister's dowry, seventy thousand francs. I succeeded in collecting ahundred and forty thousand francs more. This makes two hundred and tenthousand francs which I have brought with me to give to M. Fauvel."

  This threat aroused Prosper from his torpor.

  "You shall do nothing of the kind!" he cried with unrestrainedindignation.

  "I will do so before the sun goes down this day. M. Fauvel will grant metime to pay the rest. My pension is fifteen hundred francs. I can liveupon five hundred, and am strong enough to go to work again; and yourbrother-in-law--"

  M. Bertomy stopped short, frightened at the expression of his son'sface. His features were contracted with such furious rage that he wasscarcely recognizable, and his eyes glared like a maniac's.

  "You dare not disgrace me thus!" he cried; "you have no right to do it.You are free to disbelieve me yourself, but you have no right for takinga step that would be a confession of guilt, and ruin me forever. Whoand what convinces you of my guilt? When cold justice hesitates, you,my father, hesitate not, but, more pitiless than the law, condemn meunheard!"

  "I only do my duty."

  "Which means that I stand on the edge of a precipice, and you push meover. Do you call that your duty? What! between strangers who accuse me,and myself who swear that I am innocent, you do not hesitate? Why? Isit because I am your son? Our honor is at stake, it is true; but that isonly the more reason why you should sustain me, and assist me to defendmyself."

  Prosper's earnest, truthful manner was enough to unsettle the firmestconvictions, and make doubt penetrate the most stubborn mind.

  "Yet," said M. Bertomy in a hesitating tone, "everything seems to accuseyou.
"

  "Ah, father, you do not know that I was suddenly banished fromMadeleine's presence; that I was compelled to avoid her. I becamedesperate, and tried to forget my sorrow in dissipation. I soughtoblivion, and found shame and disgust. Oh, Madeleine, Madeleine!"

  He was overcome with emotion; but in a few minutes he started up withrenewed violence in his voice and manner.

  "Everything is against me!" he exclaimed, "but no matter. I will justifymyself or perish in the attempt. Human justice is liable to error;although innocent, I may be convicted: so be it. I will undergo mypenalty; but people are not kept galley-slaves forever."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, father, that I am now another man. My life, henceforth, has anobject, vengeance! I am the victim of a vile plot. As long as I have adrop of blood in my veins, I will seek its author. And I will certainlyfind him; and then bitterly shall he expiate all of my cruel suffering.The blow came from the house of Fauvel, and I will live to prove it."

  "Take care: your anger makes you say things that you will repenthereafter."

  "Yes, I see, you are going to descant upon the probity of M. AndreFauvel. You will tell me that all the virtues have taken refuge in thebosom of this patriarchal family. What do you know about it? Would thisbe the first instance in which the most shameful secrets are concealedbeneath the fairest appearances? Why did Madeleine suddenly forbid me tothink of her? Why has she exiled me, when she suffers as much from ourseparation as I myself, when she still loves me? For she does love me. Iam sure of it. I have proofs of it."

  The jailer came to say that the time allotted to M. Bertomy had expired,and that he must leave the cell.

  A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to rend the old man's heart.

  Suppose Prosper were telling the truth: how great would be his remorse,if he had added to his already great weight of sorrow and trouble! Andwho could prove that he was not sincere?

  The voice of this son, of whom he had always been so proud, had arousedall his paternal affection, so violently repressed. Ah, were he guilty,and guilty of a worse crime, still he was his son, his only son!

  His countenance lost its severity, and his eyes filled with tears.

  He had resolved to leave, as he had entered, stern and angry: he hadnot the cruel courage. His heart was breaking. He opened his arms, andpressed Prosper to his heart.

  "Oh, my son!" he murmured. "God grant you have spoken the truth!"

  Prosper was triumphant: he had almost convinced his father of hisinnocence. But he had not time to rejoice over this victory.

  The cell-door again opened, and the jailer's gruff voice once morecalled out:

  "It is time for you to appear before the court."

  He instantly obeyed the order.

  But his step was no longer unsteady, as a few days previous: a completechange had taken place within him. He walked with a firm step, headerect, and the fire of resolution in his eye.

  He knew the way now, and he walked a little ahead of the constable whoescorted him.

  As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the manwith gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he wassearched.

  "Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy," he said: "if you are innocent, there arethose who will help you."

  Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the mandisappeared.

  "Who is that gentleman?" he asked of the policeman.

  "Is it possible that you don't know him?" replied the policeman withsurprise. "Why, it is M. Lecoq, of the police service."

  "You say his name is Lecoq?"

  "You might as well say 'monsieur,'" said the offended policeman; "itwould not burn your mouth. M. Lecoq is a man who knows everything thathe wants to know, without its ever being told to him. If you had hadhim, instead of that smooth-tongued imbecile Fanferlot, your case wouldhave been settled long ago. Nobody is allowed to waste time when he hascommand. But he seems to be a friend of yours."

  "I never saw him until the first day I came here."

  "You can't swear to that, because no one can boast of knowing thereal face of M. Lecoq. It is one thing to-day, and another to-morrow;sometimes he is a dark man, sometimes a fair one, sometimes quite young,and then an octogenarian: why, not seldom he even deceives me. I beginto talk to a stranger, paf! the first thing I know, it is M. Lecoq!Anybody on the face of the earth might be he. If I were told that youwere he, I should say, 'It is very likely.' Ah! he can convert himselfinto any shape and form he chooses. He is a wonderful man!"

  The constable would have continued forever his praises of M. Lecoq, hadnot the sight of the judge's door put an end to them.

  This time, Prosper was not kept waiting on the wooden bench: the judge,on the contrary, was waiting for him.

  M. Patrigent, who was a profound observer of human nature, had contrivedthe interview between M. Bertomy and his son.

  He was sure that between the father, a man of such stubborn honor, andthe son, accused of theft, an affecting scene would take place, and thisscene would completely unman Prosper, and make him confess.

  He determined to send for him as soon as the interview was over, whileall his nerves were vibrating with terrible emotions: he would tell thetruth, to relieve his troubled, despairing mind.

  His surprise was great to see the cashier's bearing; resolute withoutobstinacy, firm and assured without defiance.

  "Well," he said, "have you reflected?"

  "Not being guilty, monsieur, I had nothing to reflect upon."

  "Ah, I see the prison has not been a good counsellor; you forget thatsincerity and repentance are the first things necessary to obtain theindulgence of the law."

  "I crave no indulgence, monsieur."

  M. Patrigent looked vexed, and said:

  "What would you say if I told you what had become of the three hundredand fifty thousand francs?"

  Prosper shook his head sadly.

  "If it were known, monsieur, I would not be here, but at liberty."

  This device had often been used by the judge, and generally succeeded;but, with a man so thoroughly master of himself, there was small chanceof success. It had been used at a venture, and failed.

  "Then you persist in accusing M. Fauvel?"

  "Him, or someone else."

  "Excuse me: no one else, since he alone knew the word. Had he anyinterest in robbing himself?"

  "I can think of none."

  "Well, now I will tell you what interest you had in robbing him."

  M. Patrigent spoke as a man who was convinced of the facts he was aboutto state; but his assurance was all assumed.

  He had relied upon crushing, at a blow, a despairing wretched man, andwas nonplussed by seeing him appear as determined upon resistance.

  "Will you be good enough to tell me," he said, in a vexed tone, "howmuch you have spent during the last year?"

  Prosper did not find it necessary to stop to reflect and calculate.

  "Yes, monsieur," he answered, unhesitatingly: "circumstances made itnecessary for me to preserve the greatest order in my wild career; Ispent about fifty thousand francs."

  "Where did you obtain them?"

  "In the first place, twelve thousand francs were left to me by mymother. I received from M. Fauvel fourteen thousand francs, as mysalary, and share of the profits. By speculating in stocks, I gainedeight thousand francs. The rest I borrowed, and intend repaying out ofthe fifteen thousand francs which I have deposited in M. Fauvel's bank."

  The account was clear, exact, and could be easily proved; it must be atrue one.

  "Who lent you the money?"

  "M. Raoul de Lagors."

  This witness had left Paris the day of the robbery, and could not befound; so, for the time being, M. Patrigent was compelled to rely uponProsper's word.

  "Well," he said, "I will not press this point; but tell me why, in spiteof the formal order of M. Fauvel, you drew the money from the Bank ofFrance the night before, instead of waiting till the morning of thepa
yment?"

  "Because M. de Clameran had informed me that it would be agreeable,necessary even, for him to have his money early in the morning. He willtestify to that fact, if you summon him; and I knew that I should reachmy office late."

  "Then M. de Clameran is a friend of yours?"

  "By no means. I have always felt repelled by him; but he is the intimatefriend of M. Lagors."

  While Sigault was writing down these answers, M. Patrigent was rackinghis brain to imagine what could have occurred between M. Bertomy and hisson, to cause this transformation in Prosper.

  "One more thing," said the judge: "how did you spend the evening, thenight before the crime?"

  "When I left my office, at five o'clock, I took the St.-Germain train,and went to Vesinet, M. de Lagors's country seat, to carry him fifteenhundred francs which he had asked for; and, finding him not at home, Ileft it with his servant."

  "Did he tell you that M. de Lagors was going away?"

  "No, monsieur. I did not know that he had left Paris."

  "Where did you go when you left Vesinet?"

  "I returned to Paris, and dined at a restaurant with a friend."

  "And then?"

  Prosper hesitated.

  "You are silent," said M. Patrigent; "then I shall tell you how youemployed your time. You returned to your rooms in the Rue Chaptal,dressed yourself, and attended a _soiree_ given by one of those womenwho style themselves dramatic artistes, and who are a disgrace tothe stage; who receive a hundred crowns a year, and yet keep theircarriages, at Mlle. Wilson's."

  "You are right, monsieur."

  "There is heavy playing at Wilson's?"

  "Sometimes."

  "You are in the habit of visiting places of this sort. Were you notconnected in some way with a scandalous adventure which took place atthe house of a woman named Crescenzi?"

  "I was summoned to testify, having witnessed a theft."

  "Gambling generally leads to stealing. And did you not play baccarat atWilson's, and lose eighteen hundred francs?"

  "Excuse me, monsieur, only eleven hundred."

  "Very well. In the morning you paid a note of a thousand francs."

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Moreover, there remained in your desk five hundred francs, and you hadfour hundred in your purse when you were arrested. So that altogether,in twenty-four hours, four thousand five hundred francs--"

  Prosper was not discountenanced, but stupefied.

  Not being aware of the powerful means of investigation possessed by thelaw, he wondered how in so short a time the judge could have obtainedsuch accurate information.

  "Your statement is correct, monsieur," he said finally.

  "Where did all this money come from? The evening before you had solittle that you were obliged to defer the payment of a small bill."

  "The day to which you allude, I sold through an agent some bonds I had,about three thousand francs; besides, I took from the safe two thousandfrancs in advance on my salary."

  The prisoner had given clear answers to all the questions put to him,and M. Patrigent thought he would attack him on a new point.

  "You say you have no wish to conceal any of your actions; then why didyou write this note to one of your companions?" Here he held up themysterious note.

  This time the blow struck. Prosper's eyes dropped before the inquiringlook of the judge.

  "I thought," he stammered, "I wished--"

  "You wished to screen this woman?"

  "Yes, monsieur; I did. I knew that a man in my condition, accused ofa robbery, has every fault, every weakness he has ever indulged in,charged against him as a great crime."

  "Which means that you knew that the presence of a woman at your housewould tell very much against you, and that justice would not excuse thisscandalous defiance of public morality. A man who respects himself solittle as to associate with a worthless woman, does not elevate her tohis standard, but he descends to her base level."

  "Monsieur!"

  "I suppose you know who the woman is, whom you permit to bear the honestname borne by your mother?"

  "Mme. Gypsy was a governess when I first knew her. She was born atOporto, and came to France with a Portuguese family."

  "Her name is not Gypsy; she has never been a governess, and she is not aPortuguese."

  Prosper began to protest against this statement; but M. Patrigentshrugged his shoulders, and began looking over a large file of papers onhis desk.

  "Ah, here it is," he said, "listen: Palmyre Chocareille, born at Parisin 1840, daughter of James Chocareille, undertaker's assistant, and ofCaroline Piedlent, his wife."

  Prosper looked vexed and impatient; he did not know that the judge wasreading him this report to convince him that nothing can escape thepolice.

  "Palmyre Chocareille," he continued, "at twelve years of age wasapprenticed to a shoemaker, and remained with him until she was sixteen.Traces of her for one year are lost. At the age of seventeen she ishired as a servant by a grocer on the Rue St. Denis, named Dombas, andremains there three months. She lives out during this same year,1857, at eight different places. In 1858 she entered the store of afan-merchant in Choiseul Alley."

  As he read, the judge watched Prosper's face to observe the effect ofthese revelations.

  "Toward the close of 1858 she was employed as a servant by Madame Munes,and accompanied her to Lisbon. How long she remained in Lisbon, andwhat she did while she remained there, is not reported. But in 1861 shereturned to Paris, and was sentenced to three months' imprisonment forassault and battery. Ah, she returned from Portugal with the name ofNina Gypsy."

  "But I assure you, monsieur," Prosper began.

  "Yes, I understand; this history is less romantic, doubtless, than theone related to you; but then it has the merit of being true. We losesight of Palmyre Chocareille, called Gypsy, upon her release fromprison, but we meet her again six months later, having made theacquaintance of a travelling agent named Caldas, who became infatuatedwith her beauty, and furnished her a house near the Bastille. Sheassumed his name for some time, then she deserted him to devote herselfto you. Did you ever hear of this Caldas?"

  "Never, monsieur."

  "This foolish man so deeply loved this creature that her desertion drovehim almost insane from grief. He was a very resolute man, and publiclyswore that he would kill his rival if he ever found him. The currentreport afterward was, that he committed suicide. He certainly soldthe furniture of the House occupied by Chocareille, and suddenlydisappeared. All the efforts made to discover him proved fruitless."

  The judge stopped a moment as if to give Prosper time for reflection,and then slowly said:

  "And this is the woman whom you made your companion, the woman for whomyou robbed the bank!"

  Once more M. Patrigent was on the wrong track, owing to Fanferlot'sincomplete information.

  He had hoped that Prosper would betray himself by uttering somepassionate retort when thus wounded to the quick; but he remainedimpassible. Of all the judge said to him his mind dwelt upon only oneword--Caldas, the name of the poor travelling agent who had killedhimself.

  "At any rate," insisted M. Patrigent, "you will confess that this girlhas caused your ruin."

  "I cannot confess that, monsieur, for it is not true."

  "Yet she is the occasion of your extravagance. Listen." The judge heredrew a bill from the file of papers. "During December you paid herdressmaker, Van Klopen, for two walking dresses, nine hundred francs;one evening dress, seven hundred francs; one domino, trimmed with lace,four hundred francs."

  "I spent this money cheerfully, but nevertheless I was not especiallyattached to her."

  M. Patrigent shrugged his shoulders.

  "You cannot deny the evidence," said he. "I suppose you will also saythat it was not for this girl's sake you ceased spending your eveningsat M. Fauvel's?"

  "I swear that she was not the cause of my ceasing to visit M. Fauvel'sfamily."

  "Then why did you cease, suddenly, your attentions to
a young lady whomyou confidently expected to marry, and whose hand you had written toyour father to demand for you?"

  "I had reasons which I cannot reveal," answered Prosper with emotion.

  The judge breathed freely; at last he had discovered a vulnerable pointin the prisoner's armor.

  "Did Mlle. Madeleine banish you?"

  Prosper was silent, and seemed agitated.

  "Speak," said M. Patrigent; "I must tell you that this circumstance isone of the most important in your case."

  "Whatever the cost may be, on this subject I am compelled to keepsilence."

  "Beware of what you do; justice will not be satisfied with scruples ofconscience."

  M. Patrigent waited for an answer. None came.

  "You persist in your obstinacy, do you? Well, we will go on to the nextquestion. You have, during the last year, spent fifty thousand francs.Your resources are at an end, and your credit is exhausted; to continueyour mode of life was impossible. What did you intend to do?"

  "I had no settled plan. I thought it might last as long as it would, andthen I----"

  "And then you would draw from the safe!"

  "Ah, monsieur, if I were guilty, I should not be here! I should neverhave been such a fool as to return to the bank; I should have fled."

  M. Patrigent could not restrain a smile of satisfaction, and exclaimed:

  "Exactly the argument I expected you to use. You showed your shrewdnessprecisely by staying to face the storm, instead of flying the country.Several recent suits have taught dishonest cashiers that flight abroadis dangerous. Railways travel fast, but telegrams travel faster. AFrench thief can be arrested in London within forty-eight hours afterhis description has been telegraphed. Even America is no longer arefuge. You remained prudently and wisely, saying to yourself, 'I willmanage to avoid suspicion; and, even if I am found out, I shall be freeagain after three or five years' seclusion, with a large fortune toenjoy.' Many people would sacrifice five years of their lives for threehundred and fifty thousand francs."

  "But monsieur, had I calculated in the manner you describe, I should nothave been content with three hundred and fifty thousand francs; I shouldhave waited for an opportunity to steal half a million. I often havethat sum in charge."

  "Oh! it is not always convenient to wait."

  Prosper was buried in deep thought for some minutes.

  "Monsieur," he finally said, "there is one detail I forgot to mentionbefore, and it may be of importance."

  "Explain, if you please."

  "The office messenger whom I sent to the Bank of France for the moneymust have seen me tie up the bundle, and put it away in the safe. At anyrate, he knows that I left the bank before he did."

  "Very well; the man shall be examined. Now you can return to yourcell; and once more I advise you to consider the consequences of yourpersistent denial."

  M. Patrigent thus abruptly dismissed Prosper because he wished toimmediately act upon this last piece of information.

  "Sigault," said he as soon as Prosper had left the room, "is not thisAntonin the man who was excused from testifying because he sent adoctor's certificate declaring him too ill to appear?"

  "It is, monsieur."

  "Where doe he live?"

  "Fanferlot says he was so ill that he was taken to the hospital--theDubois Hospital."

  "Very well. I am going to examine him to-day, this very hour. Take yourpen and paper, and send for a carriage."

  It was some distance from the Palais de Justice to the Dubois Hospital;but the cabman, urged by the promise of a large fee, made his sorryjades fly as if they were blooded horses.

  Would Antonin be able to answer any questions?

  The physician in charge of the hospital said that, although the mansuffered horribly from a broken knee, his mind was perfectly clear.

  "That being the case, monsieur," said the judge, "I wish to examine him,and desire that no one be admitted while he makes his deposition."

  "Oh! you will not be intruded upon, monsieur; his room contains fourbeds, but they are just now unoccupied."

  When Antonin saw the judge enter, followed by a little weazened man inblack, with a portfolio under his arm, he at once knew what he had comefor.

  "Ah," he said, "monsieur comes to see me about M. Bertomy's case?"

  "Precisely."

  M. Patrigent remained standing by the sick-bed while Sigault arrangedhis papers on a little table.

  In answer to the usual questions, the messenger swore that he was namedAntonin Poche, was forty years old, born at Cadaujac (Gironde), and wasunmarried.

  "Now," said the judge, "are you well enough to clearly answer anyquestions I may put?"

  "Certainly, monsieur."

  "Did you, on the 27th of February, go to the Bank of France for thethree hundred and fifty thousand francs that were stolen?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "At what hour did you return with the money?"

  "It must have been five o'clock when I got back."

  "Do you remember what M. Bertomy did when you handed him the notes? Now,do not be in a hurry; think before you answer."

  "Let me see: first he counted the notes, and made them into fourpackages; then he put them in the safe; and then--it seems to me--andthen he locked the safe; and, yes, I am not mistaken, he went out!"

  He uttered these last words so quickly, that, forgetting his knee, hehalf started up, but, with a cry of pain, sank back in bed.

  "Are you sure of what you say?" asked the judge.

  M. Patrigent's solemn tone seemed to frighten Antonin.

  "Sure?" he replied with marked hesitation, "I would bet my head on it,yet I am not sure!"

  It was impossible for him to be more decided in his answers. He had beenfrightened. He already imagined himself in difficulty, and for a triflewould have retracted everything.

  But the effect was already produced; and when they retired M. Patrigentsaid to Sigault:

  "This is a very important piece of evidence."