“I have forgotten his name.”

The magistrate seemed to redouble his attention, although he did not show it.

“That is very unfortunate for you,” he answered coldly.  “Come, make an effort; try to remember.”

“I know I cannot; it is not worth the trouble.”

“Well; but no doubt you recollect the profession of the man who knew so well that government wanted men in Cochin China?  What was it?”

The man, this time, turned crimson with rage, and cried out with extraordinary vehemence,—­

“How do I know?  Besides, what have I to do with my friend’s name and profession?  I learned from him that they wanted workmen.  I called at the navy department, they engaged me; and that is all.”

Standing quietly in one of the corners of the cell, the old chief surgeon lost not a word, not a gesture, of the murderer.  And he could hardly refrain from rubbing his hands with delight as he noticed the marvellous skill of the magistrate in seizing upon all those little signs, which, when summed up at the end of an investigation, form an overwhelming mass of evidence against the criminal.  The magistrate, in the meantime, went on with the same impassive air,—­

“Let us leave that question, then, since it seems to irritate you, and let us go on to your residence here.  How have you supported yourself at Saigon?”

“By my work, forsooth! I have two arms; and I am not a good-for-nothing.”

“You have found employment, you say, as engraver on metal?”

“No.”

“But you said”—­

Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, could hardly conceal his impatience.

“If you won’t let me have my say,” he broke out insolently, “it isn’t worth while questioning me.”

The magistrate seemed not to notice it.  He answered coldly,—­

“Oh! talk as much as you want.  I can wait.”

“Well, then, the day after we had landed, M. Farniol, the owner of the French restaurant, offered me a place as waiter.  Of course I accepted, and stayed there a year.  Now I wait at table at the Hotel de France, kept by M. Roy.  You can send for my two masters; they will tell you whether there is any complaint against me.”

“They will certainly be examined.  And where do you live?”

“At the Hotel de France, of course, where I am employed.”

The magistrate’s face looked more and more benevolent.  He asked next,—­

“And that is a good place,—­to be waiter at a restaurant or a hotel?”

“Why, yes—­pretty good.”

“They pay well; eh?”

“That depends,—­sometimes they do; at other times they don’t.  When it is the season”—­

“That is so everywhere.  But let us be accurate.  You have been now eighteen months in Saigon; no doubt you have laid up something?”

The man looked troubled and amazed, as if he had suddenly found out that the apparent benevolence of the magistrate had led him upon slippery and dangerous ground.  He said evasively,—­