“In the first place,” said he, at last, in a tone of affected modesty, “robbery has had nothing to do with the crime that occupies our attention.”

“Oh! of course not!” muttered Gevrol.

“I shall prove it,” continued old Tabaret, “by the evidence.  By-and-by I shall offer my humble opinion as to the real motive.  In the second place, the assassin arrived here before half-past nine; that is to say, before the rain fell.  No more than M. Gevrol have I been able to discover traces of muddy footsteps; but under the table, on the spot where his feet rested, I find dust.  We are thus assured of the hour.  The widow did not in the least expect her visitor.  She had commenced undressing, and was winding up her cuckoo clock when he knocked.”

“These are absolute details!” cried the commissary.

“But easily established,” replied the amateur.  “You see this cuckoo clock above the secretary; it is one of those which run fourteen or fifteen hours at most, for I have examined it.  Now it is more than probable, it is certain, that the widow wound it up every evening before going to bed.  How, then, is it that the clock has stopped at five?  Because she must have touched it.  As she was drawing the chain, the assassin knocked.  In proof, I show this chair standing under the clock, and on the seat a very plain foot-mark.  Now look at the dress of the victim; the body of it is off.  In order to open the door more quickly, she did not wait to put it on again, but hastily threw this old shawl over her shoulders.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed the corporal, evidently struck.

“The widow,” continued the old fellow, “knew the person who knocked.  Her haste to open the door gives rise to this conjecture; what follows proves it.  The assassin then gained admission without difficulty.  He is a young man, a little above the middle height, elegantly dressed.  He wore on that evening a high hat.  He carried an umbrella, and smoked a trabucos cigar in a holder.”

“Ridiculous!” cried Gevrol.  “This is too much.”

“Too much, perhaps,” retorted old Tabaret.  “At all events, it is the truth.  If you are not minute in your investigations, I cannot help it; anyhow, I am, I search, and I find.  Too much, say you?  Well deign to glance at these lumps of damp plaster.  They represent the heels of the boots worn by the assassin, of which I found a most perfect impression near the ditch, where the key was picked up.  On these sheets of paper, I have marked in outline the imprint of the foot which I cannot take up, because it is on some sand.  Look! heel high, instep pronounced, sole small and narrow,—­an elegant boot, belonging to a foot well cared for evidently.  Look for this impression all along the path; and you will find it again twice.  Then you will find it five times repeated in the garden where no one else had been; and these footprints prove, by the way, that the stranger knocked not at the door, but at the window-shutter, beneath which shone a gleam of light.  At the entrance to the garden, the man leapt to avoid a flower bed! the point of the foot, more deeply imprinted than usual, shows it.  He leapt more than two yards with ease, proving that he is active, and therefore young.”