“You mean—Upon my word, I compliment you, M. le Général. It is really ingenious! remarkable, indeed! superb!” cried the Judge, and only professional jealousy prevented M. Floçon from conceding the same praise.
“But how—what—I do not understand,” asked Colonel Papillon in amazement. His wits did not travel quite so fast as those of his companions.
“Simply this, my dear Jack,” explained the General: “Ripaldi must have tried to blackmail Quadling, as he proposed, and Quadling turned the tables on him. They fought, no doubt, and Quadling killed him, possibly in self-defence. He would have said so, but in his peculiar position as an absconding defaulter he did not dare. That is how I read it, and I believe that now these gentlemen are disposed to agree with me.”
“In theory, certainly,” said the Judge, heartily. “But oh! for some more positive proof of this change of character! If we could only identify the corpse, prove clearly that it is not Quadling. And still more, if we had not let this so-called Ripaldi slip through our fingers! You will never find him, M. Floçon, never.”
The detective hung his head in guilty admission of this reproach.
“We may help you in both these difficulties, gentlemen,” said Sir Charles, pleasantly. “My friend here, Colonel Papillon, can speak as to the man Quadling. He knew him well in Rome, a year or two ago.”
“Please wait one moment only;” the detective touched a bell, and briefly ordered two fiacres to the door at once.
“That is right, M. Floçon,” said the Judge. “We will all go to the Morgue. The body is there by now. You will not refuse your assistance, monsieur?”
“One moment. As to the other matter, M. le General?” went on M. Floçon. “Can you help us to find this miscreant, whoever he may be?”
“Yes. The man who calls himself Ripaldi is to be found—or, at least, you would have found him an hour or so ago—at the Hotel Ivoire, Rue Bellechasse. But time has been lost, I fear.”