Five o’clock struck before the list of witnesses summoned for the day was exhausted.  But the task of M. Patrigent was not yet finished.  He rang for his bailiff, who instantly appeared, and said to him: 

“Go at once, and bring Fanferlot here.”

It was some time before the detective answered the summons.  Having met a colleague on the gallery, he thought it his duty to treat him to a drink; and the bailiff had found it necessary to bring him from the little inn at the corner.

“How is it that you keep people waiting?” said the judge, when he entered bowing and scraping.  Fanferlot bowed more profoundly still.

Despite his smiling face, he was very uneasy.  To prosecute the Bertomy case alone, it required a double play that might be discovered at any moment; to manage at once the cause of justice and his own ambition, he ran great risks, the least of which was the losing of his place.

“I have a great deal to do,” he said, to excuse himself, “and have not wasted any time.”

And he began to give a detailed account of his movements.  He was embarrassed, for he spoke with all sorts of restrictions, picking out what was to be said, and avoiding what was to be left unsaid.  Thus he gave the history of Cavaillon’s letter, which he handed to the judge; but he did not breathe a word of Madeleine.  On the other hand, he gave biographical details, very minute indeed, of Prosper and Mme. Gypsy, which he had collected from various quarters during the day.

As he progressed the conviction of M. Patrigent was strengthened.

“This young man is evidently guilty,” he said.  Fanferlot did not reply; his opinion was different, but he was delighted that the judge was on the wrong track, thinking that his own glory would thereby be the greater when he discovered the real culprit.  True, this grand discovery was as far off as it had ever been; but Fanferlot was hopeful.

After hearing all he had to tell, the judge dismissed Fanferlot, telling him to return the next day.

“Above all,” he said, as Fanferlot left the room, “do not lose sight of the girl Gypsy; she must know where the money is, and can put us on the track.”

Fanferlot smiled cunningly.

“You may rest easy about that, monsieur; the lady is in good hands.”

Left to himself, although the evening was far advanced, M. Patrigent continued to busy himself with the case, and to arrange that the rest of the depositions should be made.

This case had actually taken possession of his mind; it was, at the same time, puzzling and attractive.  It seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of mystery, and he determined to penetrate and dispel it.

The next morning he was in his office much earlier than usual.  On this day he examined Mme. Gypsy, recalled Cavaillon, and sent again for M. Fauvel.  For several days he displayed the same activity.