The statement had the effect of a thunderclap.  So, upon the death of Hippolyte Fauville and his son Edmond, the direct descendants of the eldest sister, Cosmo Mornington’s inheritance passed to the other branch, that of Armande Roussel; and this branch was represented so far by Mme. Fauville!

The Prefect of Police and the examining magistrate exchanged glances and both instinctively turned toward Don Luis Perenna, who did not move a muscle.

“Have you no brother or sister, Madame?” asked the Prefect.

“No, Monsieur le Prefet, I am the only one.”

The only one!  In other words, now that her husband and son were dead, Cosmo Mornington’s millions reverted absolutely and undeniably to her, to her alone.

Meanwhile, a hideous idea weighed like a nightmare upon the magistrates and they could not rid themselves of it:  the woman sitting before them was the mother of Edmond Fauville.  M. Desmalions had his eyes on Don Luis Perenna, who wrote a few words on a card and handed it to the Prefect.

M. Desmalions, who was gradually resuming toward Don Luis his courteous attitude of the day before, read it, reflected a moment, and put this question to Mme. Fauville: 

“What was your son Edmond’s age?”

“Seventeen.”

“You look so young—­”

“Edmond was not my son, but my stepson, the son of my husband by his first wife, who died,”

“Ah!  So Edmond Fauville—­” muttered the Prefect, without finishing his sentence.

In two minutes the whole situation had changed.  In the eyes of the magistrates, Mme. Fauville was no longer the widow and mother who must on no account be attacked.  She had suddenly become a woman whom circumstances compelled them to cross-examine.  However prejudiced they might be in her favour, however charmed by the seductive qualities of her beauty, they were inevitably bound to ask themselves, whether for some reason or other, for instance, in order to be alone in the enjoyment of the enormous fortune, she had not had the madness to kill her husband and to kill the boy who was only her husband’s son.  In any case, the question was there, calling for a solution.

The Prefect of Police continued: 

“Do you know this turquoise?”

She took the stone which he held out to her and examined it without the least sign of confusion.

“No,” she said.  “I have an old-fashioned turquoise necklace, which I never wear, but the stones are larger and none of them has this irregular shape.”

“We found this one in the safe,” said M. Desmalions.  “It forms part of a ring belonging to a person whom we know.”

“Well,” she said eagerly, “you must find that person.”

“He is here,” said the Prefect, pointing to Don Luis, who had been standing some way off and who had not been noticed by Mme. Fauville.

She started at the sight of Perenna and cried, very excitedly: