“I thought it was without a motive.”
“To begin with,” exclaimed Julius furiously, “there’s no such thing as a crime without a motive. He was got rid of because he was in possession of a secret ... which he confided to me—an important secret—over-important for him, indeed. They were afraid of him. That’s what it was. There!... Oh! it’s all very well for you to laugh—you understand nothing about matters of faith.” Then, very pale and drawing himself up to his full height: “I am the inheritor of that secret!”
“Take care! They’ll be afraid of you next.”
“You see how necessary it is to warn the police at once.”
“One more question,” said Lafcadio, stopping him again.
“No! Let me go. I’m in a desperate hurry. You may be certain that the continual surveillance under which they kept my poor brother and which terrified him to such a degree, will now be transferred to me—has now been transferred to me. You have no idea what a crafty set they are. Those people know everything, I tell you. It’s more important than ever that you should go and fetch the body instead of me. Now that I’m being watched as I am, there’s no knowing what mightn’t happen to me. Lafcadio, my dear fellow”—he clasped his hands imploringly—“I’ve no head at this moment, but I’ll make enquiries at the Questura as to how to get a proper authorisation. Where shall I send it to you?”
“I’ll take a room in this hotel. It’ll be more convenient. Good-bye, till to-morrow. Make haste! Make haste!”
He let Julius go. There was beginning to rise in him a feeling of profound disgust—a kind of hatred almost, of himself, of Julius, of everything. He shrugged his shoulders, and then took out of his pocket the Cook’s ticket, which he had found in Fleurissoire’s coat and which had the name of Baraglioul written on the first page; he put it on the table, well in sight, leaning it up against the scent bottle—then turned out the light and left the room.
IV
Notwithstanding all the precautions he had taken, notwithstanding his recommendations to the Questura, Julius de Baraglioul did not succeed in preventing the newspapers from divulging his relationship to the victim—nor, indeed, from mentioning in so many words the name and address of his hotel.