On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood that might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right one, which was still red.  But suddenly it occurred to him that he might be followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived.  He hastened his steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, and took the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was little chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on his clothing or boots.  He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, turning and returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place Vendome twice, where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go home, not knowing whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all quest, or whether he should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of panic.

As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him, and, running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness.  Saniel, who wished to escape observation, took it hastily, and stuffed it into his pocket.

“It is an important letter,” the concierge said.  “The servant who brought it told me that it contained money.”

It needed this recommendation at such a moment, or Saniel would not have opened it, which he did as soon as he entered his rooms.

   “I do not wish, my dear Doctor, to leave Paris for Monaco, where I
   go to pass two or three months, without sending you our thanks.

               “Yours very gratefully,
                    “C.  Duphot.”

These thanks were represented by two bills of one hundred francs, a payment more than sufficient for the care that Saniel had given some months before to the mistress of this old comrade.  Of what use now were these two hundred francs, which a few days sooner would have been so much to him?  He threw them on his desk; and then, after having lighted two candles, he inspected his clothing.

The precaution that he had taken to place himself behind the chair was wise.  The blood, in squirting in front and on each side, had not reached him; only the hand that held the knife and the shirt-sleeve were splashed, but this was of no consequence.  A doctor has the right to have some blood on his sleeves, and this shirt went to join the one he had worn the previous night when attending the sick woman.

Free from this care, he still had the money in his pockets.  He emptied them on his desk and counted all:  five rouleaux of gold, of a thousand francs, and three packages of ten thousand francs each, of bank-notes.

How should he get rid of this sum all at once, and, later, how should he justify its production when the moment came, if it came?

The question was complex, and, unfortunately for him, he was hardly in a state to consider it calmly.

For the gold, he had only to burn the papers in which it was rolled.  Louis have neither numbers nor particular marks, but bills have.  Where should he conceal them while waiting to learn through the newspapers if Caffie had or had not made a note of these numbers?