“Justice cannot stoop to such expedients.”  Then he added, seeing how disappointed Crochard looked,—­

“You had better try and recollect all you can.  Have you forgotten or concealed nothing that might assist us in carrying out this examination?”

“No; I think I have told you every thing.”

“You cannot furnish any additional evidence of the complicity of Justin Chevassat, of his efforts to tempt you to commit this crime, or of the forgery he committed in getting up a false set of papers for you?”

“No!  Ah, he is a clever one, and leaves no trace behind him that could convict him.  But, strong as he is, if we could be confronted in court, I’d undertake, just by looking at him, to get the truth out of him somehow.”

“You shall be confronted, I promise you.”

The prisoner seemed to be amazed.

“Are you going to send for Chevassat?” he asked.

“No.  You will be sent home, to be tried there.”

A flash of joy shone in the eyes of the wretch.  He knew the voyage would not be a pleasant one; but the prospect of being tried in France was as good as an escape from capital punishment to his mind.  Besides, he delighted in advance in the idea of seeing Chevassat in court, seated by his side as a fellow-prisoner.

“Then,” he asked again, “they will send me home?”

“On the first national vessel that leaves Saigon.”

The magistrate went and sat down at the table where the clerk was writing, and rapidly ran his eye over the long examination, seeing if anything had been overlooked.  When he had done, he said,—­

“Now give me as accurate a description of Justin Chevassat as you can.”

Crochard passed his hand repeatedly over his forehead; and then, his eyes staring at empty space, and his neck stretched out, as if he saw a phantom which he had suddenly called up, he said,—­

“Chevassat is a man of my age; but he does not look more than twenty seven or eight.  That is what made me hesitate at first, when I met him on the boulevard.  He is a handsome fellow, very well made, and wears all his beard.  He looks clever, with soft eyes; and his face inspires confidence at once.”

“Ah! that is Maxime all over,” broke in Daniel.

And, suddenly remembering something, he called Lefloch.  The sailor started, and almost mechanically assumed the respectful position of a sailor standing before his officer.

“Lieutenant?” he said.

“Since I have been sick, they have brought part of my baggage here; have they not?”

“Yes, lieutenant, all of it.”

“Well.  Go and look for a big red book with silver clasps.  You have no doubt seen me look at it often.”

“Yes, lieutenant; and I know where it is.”

And he immediately opened one of the trunks that were piled up in a corner of the room, and took from it a photograph album, which, upon a sign from Daniel, he handed to the lawyer.