“Bah!  You never were in the English Army.”

“I can prove it.”

“I shall not believe you.  Being in funds, I say, you lived riotously, stayed at one of the best hotels, kept a landau and pair, dined at the Trois Freres and the Rocher de Cancale, frequented the theatres; madame wore the most expensive toilettes.  But you presently ran short of cash.”

“It’s not surprising.  But I presume I was at liberty to do what I liked with my own.”

“Coming to the end of your resources,” went on the judge, coldly ignoring the sneer, “you tried the gaming-table again, with varying success.  You went constantly to the Hotel Paradis—­”

“On the contrary, occasionally, not often.”

“You were there last night; it is useless to deny it.  We have the deposition of the proprietor, who is well known to the police—­M.  Hippolyte Ledantec; you shall be confronted with him.”

“Is he in custody?” asked Gascoigne, eagerly.

“I tell you it is not your place to question.”

“He ought to be.  It was he who committed the murder.”

“You know there was a murder, then?  Curious.  When the body was discovered by the porter there was no one present.  How could you know of the crime unless you had a hand in it?”

“I saw it committed.  I tried my best to save the Baron, but Ledantec stabbed him before I could interpose.”

“An ingenious attempt to shift the guilt; but it will not serve.  We know better.”

“I am prepared to swear it was Ledantec.  Why should I attack the Baron?  I owed him no grudge.”

“Why?  I will tell you.  For some time past, as I have reminded you, your funds have been running low, fortune has been against you at the tables, and you could not correct it at the Hotel Paradis as you do with less clever players—­”

“You are taking an unfair advantage of your position, Monsieur le Juge.  Any one else who dared accuse me of cheating—­”

“Bah! no heroics.  You could not correct fortune, I say; yet money you must have.  The hotel-keeper was pressing for his long-unpaid account.  Madame, your smart wife, was dissatisfied; she made you scenes because you refused her money; in return, you ill-used her.”

“It is false!  My wife has always received proper consideration at my hands.”

“You ill-used her, ill-treated her; we have it from herself.”

“Do you know, then, where she is?” interrupted Gascoigne, with so much eagerness that it was plain he had taken his wife’s defection greatly to heart.  “Why has she left me?  With whom?  I have always suspected that villain Ledantec; he is an arch scoundrel, a very devil!”

“The reasons for your wife’s disappearance are sufficiently explained by this letter.”

“To me?” said Gascoigne, stretching out his hand for it.

“To you, but impounded by us.  It was found, in our search of your apartments yesterday, placed in a prominent place upon your dressing-table.”