“I have never doubted that, sir.”

“Now,” continued the magistrate, seeking to hide the look which he fastened upon Albert, “justice supposes that, to do away with the only existing proof, you have assassinated Widow Lerouge.”

This terrible accusation, terribly emphasised, caused no change in Albert’s features.  He preserved the same firm bearing, without bravado.

“Before God,” he answered, “and by all that is most sacred on earth, I swear to you, sir, that I am innocent!  I am at this moment a close prisoner, without communication with the outer world, reduced consequently to the most absolute helplessness.  It is through your probity that I hope to demonstrate my innocence.”

“What an actor!” thought the magistrate.  “Can crime be so strong as this?”

He glanced over his papers, reading certain passages of the preceding depositions, turning down the corners of certain pages which contained important information.  Then suddenly he resumed, “When you were arrested, you cried out, ‘I am lost,’ what did you mean by that?”

“Sir,” replied Albert, “I remember having uttered those words.  When I knew of what crime I was accused, I was overwhelmed with consternation.  My mind was, as it were, enlightened by a glimpse of the future.  In a moment, I perceived all the horror of my situation.  I understood the weight of the accusation, its probability, and the difficulties I should have in defending myself.  A voice cried out to me, ’Who was most interested in Claudine’s death?’ And the knowledge of my imminent peril forced from me the exclamation you speak of.”

His explanation was more than plausible, was possible, and even likely.  It had the advantage, too, of anticipating the axiom, “Search out the one whom the crime will benefit!” Tabaret had spoken truly, when he said that they would not easily make the prisoner confess.

M. Daburon admired Albert’s presence of mind, and the resources of his perverse imagination.

“You do indeed,” continued the magistrate, “appear to have had the greatest interest in this death.  Moreover, I will inform you that robbery was not the object of the crime.  The things thrown into the Seine have been recovered.  We know, also, that all the widow’s papers were burnt.  Could they compromise any one but yourself?  If you know of any one, speak.”

“What can I answer, sir?  Nothing.”

“Have you often gone to see this woman?”

“Three or four times with my father.”

“One of your coachmen pretends to have driven you there at least ten times.”

“The man is mistaken.  But what matters the number of visits?”

“Do you recollect the arrangements of the rooms?  Can you describe them?”

“Perfectly, sir:  there were two.  Claudine slept in the back room.”

“You were in no way a stranger to Widow Lerouge.  If you had knocked one evening at her window-shutter, do you think she would have let you in?”