"Why, I am intimate with the magistrate to whom the investigation of the case is entrusted, and he tells me that Jean now remembers, that at about nine o'clock on the morning of the murder, a rather suspicious-looking man rang at the door. Jean answered the bell, and this man, who seemed greatly annoyed on seeing him, asked for some person whom Jean had never heard of. He then said that he must have made a mistake in the number of the house, and went off without insisting any further. Ten minutes later, Dargental, having completed his toilet, sent Jean to Madame de Les...o...b..t's with a letter, and Jean, as he left the house, saw the same man standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the street. He thought very little about it at the time, but started off on his errand. The countess resides at some distance from Dargental's house; besides, our friend had given Jean several other commissions, which explains why he failed to return until you and Puymirol reached the scene of the catastrophe. The fact is, that strange man must have seen Jean leave the house, and then, realising that our unfortunate friend was alone, he went upstairs again, whereupon Dargental himself must have opened the door."

"No doubt; but to what motive does the magistrate ascribe the crime?"

"To robbery, as Dargental's pocket-book is missing."

"But are you sure that this pocket-book contained any money?"

"One cannot be sure, of course, but it seems more than probable.

Dargental was in the habit of carrying all the money he possessed about him, and Jean declares that his master, on going to bed at night, always placed his pocket-book under the bolster. Besides, all the drawers have been carefully examined, and not a penny has been found in the place."

"And no article of furniture was forced open by the murderer?"

"None, whatever. He evidently knew exactly where to look for what he wanted. Besides, he was probably anxious to get away as soon as possible, as some one might have come in at any moment. It seems that the only clue the authorities possess consists of a memorandum in Dargental's handwriting which was found in the ante-room. The murderer must have dropped it on opening the pocket-book, for the imprint of his b.l.o.o.d.y fingers is visible on one corner of it."

"And what is this memorandum?"

"Robergeot would not tell me--Robergeot is the magistrate. He has great confidence in me, as he has known me from my infancy; but he has a very keen sense of professional duty, so that all I have been able to learn is that the note in question may prove of great use in discovering the criminal. I certainly hope the brigand will be apprehended, for if the murder of my friend Dargental should go unpunished, I believe I shall really die a year before my time, and that would upset all my calculations, for I still have money enough left to last me thirty months longer."

"Ah, yes, I forgot that you were a chronic consumptive," said George ironically. "Poor fellow! However, if this is all you have to tell me--"

"Yes, for the time being; but I shall see Robergeot again, and I will keep you well informed, though you don't seem to take much interest in the affair. You are not like Puymirol. He knows that I am acquainted with the magistrate, and he asks me every day how the investigation is progressing. But speaking of Puymirol, are you aware that he lost five hundred louis more at cards last night?"

"No, I just left him, but he said nothing to me about it," murmured George, surprised and still more annoyed at this news. "Perhaps he has not gone off yet. I am going to wait for him at the door."

"That means, you have had enough of my company, so I will leave you."

George was now anxious to see Puymirol, for he felt that his friend had no right to keep a pocket-book and letters which might put the authorities on the right scent, for he did not believe that the robbery of any money had had anything to do with the crime. Moreover, he wished to ask Adhemar how he was situated financially, and ascertain if this last loss of ten thousand francs would not prove an irreparable misfortune as he greatly feared. He therefore hurried to the grand entrance where there was a dense crowd, at sight of which he almost despaired of finding Puymirol. However, luck favoured him, but, first, he saw Blanche p.o.r.nic pa.s.s out, accompanied by a young officer who was none other than Albert Verdon. She did not stop to speak to George, but she gave him a mocking smile as she pa.s.sed by. She had succeeded in her purpose; the young lieutenant to whom she had taken such a fancy, had evidently been impressed by her charms. George had not time to think over the matter, for just then, Puymirol, coming upon him unexpectedly, caught hold of his arm, and dragged him off, exclaiming: "I want you to do me a favour."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but I have not got the amount you lost at the club last night," replied George.

"That isn't the question. I have at last succeeded in securing a few moments' conversation with the countess, and I am now going to see her at her house, where we shall probably have a decisive interview. Her letter is a weapon which I have resolved to use, but I don't want to have it about me during my first visit, so do me the favour to keep the pocket-book for me until to-morrow."

"Dargental's pocket-book! Not if I know it!"

"So you are afraid of compromising yourself. Very well, merely take the letters, then." And Puymirol, as he spoke, drew all three of them out of the compartment in which they had been placed, and, after thrusting them into George Caumont's hand, hastened rapidly away.

III.

The Countess de Les...o...b..t's residence on the Boulevard de Courcelles was an imposing structure which, in Italy, would certainly have been styled the Les...o...b..t Palace. Standing majestically between a large court-yard and s.p.a.cious grounds, this seigneurial mansion seemed intended to accommodate some exiled king. M. de Les...o...b..t, who had erected this residence, had been a _blase_ sceptic, knowing no law save his own caprice. After amusing himself for several years, he had crowned his career as an eccentric millionaire by marrying the pretended ward of a middle cla.s.s libertine, a certain Octavia Crochard, whose story had been accurately related by Blanche p.o.r.nic, the actress. The result of this marriage was that M. de Les...o...b..t suddenly took his departure for a better world after bequeathing his entire fortune to his wife, and whatever Blanche might say to the contrary, it was scarcely likely that he had committed suicide, for he had certainly had every reason to desire to remain alive. However, the countess, as soon as she became a widow, behaved with the utmost tact. She retained the services of the old Marchioness de Monastier, a dowager who had long a.s.sisted the count in doing the honours of his princely mansion, and who was now quite willing to act as chaperon to his widow; and a most complaisant chaperon she proved, winking at such secret peccadillos as Octavia indulged in. The countess now meant to lead a quiet, independent life, but a woman's plans are rarely carried out. Shortly after her husband's death, Dargental was introduced to her by a mutual friend, and she soon became so infatuated with him, that she promised to marry him at the expiration of the ten months' delay prescribed by law.

This promise had failed to take effect, as her intended husband had been taken from her by a most terrible, unforeseen catastrophe. It may be asked, how had she borne this terrible blow? Madame de Monastier alone could have answered the question, for since Dargental's death Madame de Les...o...b..t had not left her house, and he had been buried without her showing herself at the funeral. Moreover, all Puymirol's efforts to enter into communication with her had proved unavailing. Everything seemed to indicate that she meant to let a suitable interval elapse before she emerged from seclusion, and, indeed, when Puymirol met her at the horse show it was the first time that she had appeared in public since her lover's death. She had thought it an excellent opportunity to let people understand that she had no intention of immuring herself forever, and so she had repaired to the Palais de l'Industrie in a toilet suited to the occasion. She there received the friends who approached her with perfect serenity, and cut their expressions of condolence short by a few well-chosen words.

Puymirol knew her but slightly. Dargental had taken him to two or three of her entertainments, and as he was a superb waltzer she had noticed him at the time; but he feared that she had now well-nigh forgotten him, and that she would pay no more attention to his remarks than she had paid to his letters. He was thus agreeably surprised when he saw her smile upon him in the most engaging manner while he approached the tribune where she was seated. He then stationed himself at the foot of the staircase, and, deciding to bide his time, waited for the countess's departure, when he might have an opportunity of saying a few words to her in private. Indeed, when the show was about to close for the day, the countess descended the steps, and leaving the two or three gentlemen who were in obsequious attendance upon her, came straight towards him, apologized for not having received him at her house, and inquired if it would suit him to come and see her that very afternoon. Puymirol eagerly accepted the invitation, although her unexpected cordiality aroused his distrust. However, on catching sight of George, he forthwith determined to place the letters in his keeping as a precaution against a fascination he feared. He reached the countess's house but a quarter of an hour after her own return, and a footman at once escorted him through a suite of magnificent apartments to the boudoir where the lovely widow usually received her intimate friends. He found her armed for conquest.

She was certainly a superb creature. Tall, with faultless shoulders, she had a head like that of a Grecian statue, and her white brow was crowned with heavy coils of ruddy hair, of the tint which the Venetian masters were so fond of. Puymirol seated himself in a low chair near her, and was wondering how he should open the conversation when, without any preamble, she exclaimed: "Let us talk of poor Pierre, shall we not?"

"Pierre Dargental?" said Puymirol. "Yes, that was what brought me here."

This was only partially true, however, for he admired the countess exceedingly, and, besides, now that he was in her presence, he experienced the wonderful charm that she exercised over all the men who approached her. She, no doubt, realised it, for, fixing her large green eyes, full of a strange fire, upon him, she softly said: "I thought you had called partially on my account."

"And you are right," exclaimed Puymirol, impulsively.

"Then I forgive you for your almost rude remark. We are already old friends, you and I, for it was more than a year ago that poor Pierre introduced you to me. Do you recollect the ball at which you led the cotillon?"

"I remember it as if it were but yesterday."

"And so do I, for I have never met your equal as a waltzer since. But you have made no effort to see me since last winter."

"I feared annoying Dargental."

"Yes, he was terribly jealous, but, poor fellow, I forgive him. His terrible death has been a sad blow for me. I see by your face that you don't believe that--no doubt, because you saw me at the show just now in a spring toilet. However, a woman is not obliged to put on a black dress to be deeply afflicted. My heart is in mourning, but I don't deem it necessary to publish my grief."

"Oh, I don't presume to criticise you, madame. On the contrary, I bless the chance that brought about a meeting between us, for you have repeatedly refused me an interview."

"I treated everyone alike. I even thought strongly of leaving Paris for a few months, but I finally came to the conclusion that absence would not cure my grief, and I summoned up courage to shake off the prostration to which my loss had reduced me."

"I trusted that you would at least reply to the letter in which I begged of you to grant me an interview."

"You must not be offended with me on account of my failure to do so. I never write to any one. It is against my principles."

"But you must break this rule sometimes," said Adhemar, gazing searchingly at the countess.

"Not often," was the calm response. "My autograph letters ought to fetch a good price, for there are certainly very few of them."

"It would, doubtless, surprise you very much if I told you that I have one in my possession."

"Indeed! I should really like to see it."

"Well, I regret that I haven't got it with me. I should add, however, that it is a very unimportant doc.u.ment; the telegraphic note you sent to Pierre at the Lion d'Or."

"Yes! I recollect that. But I cannot imagine how you came by it."

"Poor Dargental was dead when it was delivered. We were ignorant of the fact, and were breakfasting without him, at the time, and Charles Balmer, who was one of the guests, took the liberty to open the message and show it to us."

"That doesn't surprise me. Monsieur Balmer is always doing something stupid. But I am surprised you kept it."

"I meant to hand it to Dargental as soon as the lunch was over. But, alas! I arrived at his place too late."

"Yes," murmured Madame de Les...o...b..t. "I know the terrible story."

"I should have returned the note to you if I had been able to see you, and I will return it now whenever you like, but I have read and re-read it many times, and I now know your writing as well as if I had received hundreds of letters from you."

"And what do you think of the contents of this famous missive?"

"I think you were most kind and indulgent as regards poor Pierre in letting him invite to that lunch--"