“Out of your own pocket, old enthusiast?”

“Yes, M. Gevrol, out of my own pocket.”

“If they should however find this bundle!” murmured M. Daburon.

He was interrupted by the entrance of a gendarme, who said:  “Here is a soiled table-napkin, filled with plate, money, and jewels, which these men have found; they claim the hundred francs’ reward, promised them.”

Old Tabaret took from his pocket-book a bank note, which he handed to the gendarme.  “Now,” demanded he, crushing Gevrol with one disdainful glance, “what thinks the investigating magistrate after this?”

“That, thanks to your remarkable penetration, we shall discover—­”

He did not finish.  The doctor summoned to make the post-mortem examination entered the room.  That unpleasant task accomplished, it only confirmed the assertions and conjectures of old Tabaret.  The doctor explained, as the old man had done, the position of the body.  In his opinion also, there had been a struggle.  He pointed out a bluish circle, hardly perceptible, round the neck of the victim, produced apparently by the powerful grasp of the murderer; finally he declared that Widow Lerouge had eaten about three hours before being struck.

Nothing now remained except to collect the different objects which would be useful for the prosecution, and might at a later period confound the culprit.  Old Tabaret examined with extreme care the dead woman’s finger-nails; and, using infinite precaution, he even extracted from behind them several small particles of kid.  The largest of these pieces was not above the twenty-fifth part of an inch in length; but all the same their colour was easily distinguishable.  He put aside also the part of the dress upon which the assassin had wiped his weapon.  These with the bundle recovered from the Seine, and the different casts taken by the old fellow, were all the traces the murderer had left behind him.

It was not much; but this little was enormous in the eyes of M. Daburon; and he had strong hopes of discovering the culprit.  The greatest obstacle to success in the unravelling of mysterious crimes is in mistaking the motive.  If the researches take at the first step a false direction, they are diverted further and further from the truth, in proportion to the length they are followed.  Thanks to old Tabaret, the magistrate felt confident that he was in the right path.

Night had come on.  M. Daburon had now nothing more to do at La Jonchere; but Gevrol, who still clung to his own opinion of the guilt of the man with the rings in his ears, declared he would remain at Bougival.  He determined to employ the evening in visiting the different wine shops, and finding if possible new witnesses.  At the moment of departure, after the commissary and the entire party had wished M. Daburon good-night, the latter asked M. Tabaret to accompany him.

“I was about to solicit that honour,” replied the old fellow.  They set out together; and naturally the crime which had been discovered, and with which they were mutually preoccupied, formed the subject of their conversation.