LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter XVII.

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      Greatly troubled and perplexed by Mademoiselle d’Arlange’s revelations, M. Daburon was ascending the stairs that led to the offices of the investigating magistrates, when he saw old Tabaret coming towards him. The sight pleased him, and he at once called out: “M. Tabaret!”

      But the old fellow, who showed signs of the most intense agitation, was scarcely disposed to stop, or to lose a single minute.

      “You must excuse me, sir,” he said, bowing, “but I am expected at home.”

      “I hope, however —”

      “Oh, he is innocent,” interrupted old Tabaret. “I have already some proofs; and before three days — But you are going to see Gevrol’s man with the earrings. He is very cunning, Gevrol; I misjudged him.”

      And without listening to another word, he hurried away, jumping down three steps at a times, at the risk of breaking his neck.

      M. Daburon, greatly disappointed, also hastened on.

      In the passage, on a bench of rough wood before his office door, Albert sat awaiting him, under the charge of a Garde de Paris.

      “You will be summoned immediately, sir,” said the magistrate to the prisoner, as he opened his door.

      In the office, Constant was talking with a skinny little man, who might have been taken, from his dress, for a well-to-do inhabitant of Batignolles, had it not been for the enormous pin in imitation gold which shone in his cravat, and betrayed the detective.

      “You received my letters?” asked M. Daburon of his clerk.

      “Your orders have been executed, sir; the prisoner is without, and here is M. Martin, who this moment arrived from the neighbourhood of the Invalides.”

      “That is well,” said the magistrate in a satisfied tone. And, turning towards the detective, “Well, M. Martin,” he asked, “what did you see?”

      “The walls had been scaled, sir.”

      “Lately?”

      “Five or six days ago.”

      “You are sure of this?”

      “As sure as I am that I see M. Constant at this moment mending his pen.”

      “The marks are plain?”

      “As plain as the nose on my face, sir, if I may so express myself. The thief — it was done by a thief, I imagine,” continued M. Martin, who was a great talker —“the thief entered the garden before the rain, and went away after it, as you had conjectured. This circumstance is easy to establish by examining the marks on the wall of the ascent and the descent on the side towards the street. These marks are several abrasions, evidently made by feet of some one climbing. The first are clean; the others, muddy. The scamp — he was a nimble fellow — in getting in, pulled himself up by the strength of his wrists; but when going away, he enjoyed the luxury of a ladder, which he threw down as soon as he was on the top of the wall. It is to see where he placed it, by holes made in the ground by the fellow’s weight; and also by the mortar which has been knocked away from the top of the wall.”

      “Is that all?” asked the magistrate.

      “Not yet, sir. Three of the pieces of glass which cover the top of the wall have been removed. Several of the acacia branches, which extend over the wall have been twisted or broken. Adhering to the thorns of one of these branches, I found this little piece of lavender kid, which appears to me to belong to a glove.”

      The magistrate eagerly seized the piece of kid.

      It had evidently come from a glove.

      “You took care, I hope, M. Martin,” said M. Daburon, “not to attract attention at the house where you made this investigation?”

      “Certainly, sir. I first of all examined the exterior of the wall at my leisure. After that, leaving my hat at a wine shop round the corner, I called at the Marchioness d’Arlange’s house, pretending to be the servant of a neighbouring duchess, who was in despair at having lost a favourite, and, if I may so speak, an eloquent parrot. I was very kindly given permission to explore the garden; and, as I spoke as disrespectfully as possible of my pretended mistress they, no doubt, took me for a genuine servant.”

      “You are an adroit and prompt fellow, M. Martin,” interrupted the magistrate. “I am well satisfied with you; and I will report you favourably at headquarters.”

      He rang his bell, while the detective, delighted at the praise he had received, moved backwards to the door, bowing the while.

      Albert was then brought in.

      “Have you decided, sir,” asked the investigating magistrate without preamble, “to give me a true account of how you spent last Tuesday evening?”

      “I have already told you, sir.”

      “No, sir, you have not; and I regret to say that you lied to me.”

      Albert, at this apparent insult, turned red, and his eyes flashed.

      “I know all that you did on that evening,” continued the magistrate, “because justice, as I have already told you, is ignorant of nothing that it is important for it to know.”

      Then, looking straight into Albert’s eyes, he continued slowly: “I have seen Mademoiselle

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