“What paper is this, Crochard?” asked the lawyer.

“I don’t know.  I suppose I picked it up somewhere.”

“What?  Are you going to lie again?  What is the use?  Here is evidently the address of some one who lives in University Street.”

Daniel was trembling on his bed.

“Ah, sir!” he exclaimed, “I used to live in University Street, Paris.”

A slight blush passed over the lawyer’s face, a sign of unequivocal satisfaction in him.  He uttered half loud, as if replying to certain objections in his own mind,—­

“Everything is becoming clear.”

And yet, to the great surprise of his listeners, he abandoned this point; and, returning to the prisoner, he asked him,—­

“So you acknowledge having received money for the murder of Lieut.  Champcey?”

“I never said so.”

“No; but the three thousand francs found concealed on your person say so very clearly.  From whom did you receive this money?”

“From nobody.  They are my savings.”

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders; and, looking very sternly at Crochard, he said,—­

“I have before compelled you to make a certain confession.  I mean to do so again and again.  You will gain nothing, believe me, by struggling against justice; and you cannot save the wretches who tempted you to commit this crime.  There is only one way left to you, if you wish for mercy; and that is frankness.  Do not forget that!”

The assassin was, perhaps, better able to appreciate the importance of such advice than anybody else there present.  Still he remained silent for more than a minute, shaken by a kind of nervous tremor, as if a terrible struggle was going on in his heart.  He was heard to mutter,—­

“I do not denounce anybody.  A bargain is a bargain.  I am not a tell-tale.”

Then, all of a sudden, making up his mind, and showing himself just the man the magistrate had expected to find, he said with a cynic laugh,—­

“Upon my word, so much the worse for them!  Since I am in the trap, let the others be caught as well!  Besides, who would have gotten the big prize, if I had succeeded?  Not I, most assuredly; and yet it was I who risked most.  Well, then, the man who hired me to ’do the lieutenant’s business’ is a certain Justin Chevassat.”

The most intense disappointment seized both Daniel and the surgeon.  This was not the name they had been looking for with such deep anxiety.

“Don’t you deceive me, Crochard?” asked the lawyer, who alone had been able to conceal all he felt.

“You may take my head if I lie!”

Did he tell the truth?  The lawyer thought he did; for, turning to Daniel, he asked,—­

“Do you know anybody by the name of Chevassat, M. Champcey?”

“No.  It is the first time in my life I hear that name.”

“Perhaps that Chevassat was only an agent,” suggested the doctor.