’A citizen of Lucca, named Zambelli, went on business to England, where he settled.  His affairs prospered greatly.  At fifty years old, having made his fortune, he felt a desire to end his days at Lucca, near a brother whom he tenderly loved.  He wrote to his family, who were delighted at the news.  Soon another letter, dated Rouen, announced his arrival there from England, and that he should reach Lucca in about two months.  This space of time was requisite for the transaction of his business at Paris, and his journey onward.  He was daily expected at Lucca; but two, three, six months passed by, and he arrived not; nor, what was stranger still, did any other letter from him reach his family, whose anxiety was extreme.  Cornelius, his brother, went to Paris in search of him.  He visited all the houses whither Zambelli’s commerce was likely to lead him.  Many persons had seen, or believed they had seen, Zambelli.  An individual bearing that name had claimed the payment due to bonds of a considerable amount:  the merchants showed the signature “Zambelli” at the bottom of the receipts.  “All these signatures are forged,” cried Cornelius.  “Describe the person of the forger, so that I may bring him to justice.”  But it was in vain; for no one could recollect precisely the appearance of a man who had been seen so short a time.

’It was plain that an audacious robbery had been committed—­perhaps a murder.  Cornelius went from Paris to Rouen, where he visited successively all the hotels in the place.  At one of them Zambelli had been seen.  He had left it for Paris, accompanied by a valet.  This valet had been little noticed:  besides, six or eight months had passed since the departure of Zambelli; and how could one domestic excite attention among the numbers who had inhabited this hotel, the most frequented in Rouen?

‘It was at this time,’ continued the lieutenant of police, ’that Cornelius brought his complaint before me.  Like him, I felt assured that a great crime had been committed between Rouen and Paris; but how could it be proved?  How could the criminal be discovered?  At last a sudden thought struck me.  Six or seven months since, a goldsmith, named Martel, had opened a shop at Rouen, where he was entirely unknown.  There was something strange in his manner, and the expression of his face:  he said nothing of his parents or family; and those who hazarded questions on the subject, received from him evasive answers, given with ill-disguised embarrassment.  Struck with his business being the same as Zambelli’s, and acting under an involuntary presentiment, I sent a person, who, under pretence of making purchases, entered into conversation with Martel, in which, as if by chance, he introduced the name of Zambelli.  At this name Martel grew pale, and showed signs of inquietude, looking anxiously at his questioner.  This strengthened my suspicions:  I resolved to satisfy myself; but here, I confess, the excess of my zeal led me into error.