“By all means, M. Giraud, if you wish,” said the magistrate coldly.
Giraud edged his chair a little nearer to the table.
“Were you on good terms with your father, M. Renauld?”
“Certainly I was,” returned the lad haughtily.
“You assert that positively?”
“Yes.”
“No little disputes, eh?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Every one may have a difference of opinion now and then.”
“Quite so, quite so. But if any one were to assert that you had a violent quarrel with your father on the eve of your departure for Paris, that person, without doubt, would be lying?”
I could not but admire the ingenuity of Giraud. His boast “I know everything” had been no idle one. Jack Renauld was clearly disconcerted by the question.