But the old surgeon replied with a dark frown,—­

“Gently, gentlemen, gently!  Don’t let us be over-hasty in accusing a poor fellow of such a fearful crime, when, perhaps, he is guilty only of imprudence.”

“O doctor, doctor!” protested half a dozen voices.

“I beg your pardon!  Don’t let us be hasty, I say; and let us consider, For an assassination there must be a motive, and an all-powerful motive; for, aside from the scaffold which he risks, no man is capable of killing another man solely for the purpose of shedding his blood.  Now, in this case, I look in vain for any reason, which could have induced the man to commit a murder.  He certainly did not expect to rob our poor comrade.  But hatred, you say, or vengeance, perhaps!  Well, that may be.  But, before a man makes up his mind to shoot even the man he hates like a dog, he must have been cruelly offended by him; and, to bring this about, he must have been in contact, or must have stood in some relation to him.  Now, I ask you, is it not far more probable that the murderer saw our friend Champcey this morning for the first time?”

“I beg your pardon, commandant!  He knew him perfectly well.”

The man who interrupted the doctor was one of the sailors to whom the prisoner had been intrusted to carry him to prison.  He came forward, twisting his worsted cap in his hands; and, when the old surgeon had ordered him to speak, he said,—­

“Yes, the rascal knew the lieutenant as well as I know you, commandant; and the reason of it is, that the scoundrel was one of the emigrants whom we brought here eighteen months ago.”

“Are you sure of what you say?”

“As sure as I see you, commandant.  At first my comrade and I did not recognize him, because a year and a half in this wretched country disfigure a man horribly; but, while we were carrying him to jail, we said to one another, ‘That is a head we have seen before.’  Then we made him talk; and he told us gradually, that he had been one of the passengers, and that he even knew my name, which is Baptist Lefloch.”

This deposition of the sailor made a great impression upon all the bystanders, except the old doctor.  It is true he was looked upon, on board “The Conquest,” as one of the most obstinate men in holding on to his opinions.

“Do you know,” he asked the sailor, “if this man was one of the four or five who had to be put in irons during the voyage?”

“No, he was not one of them, commandant.”

“Did he ever have anything to do with Lieut.  Champcey?  Has he been reprimanded by him, or punished?  Has he ever spoken to him?”

“Ah, commandant! that is more than I can tell.”

The old doctor slightly shrugged his shoulders, and said in a tone of indifference,—­

“You see, gentlemen, this deposition is too vague to prove anything.  Believe me, therefore, do not let us judge before the trial, and let us go to bed.”