No doubt the watch to be set on the Countess might lead to something yet—something to bring first plausible suspicion to a triumphant issue; but the examination of the other occupants of the car should not be allowed to slacken on that account. The Countess might have some confederate among them—this pestilent English General, perhaps, who had made himself so conspicuous in her defence; or some one of them might throw light upon her movements, upon her conduct during the journey.
Then, with a spasm of self-reproach, M. Floçon remembered that two distinct suggestions had been made to him by two of the travellers, and that, so far, he had neglected them. One was the significant hint from the Italian that he could materially help the inquiry. The other was the General’s sneering assertion that the train had not continued its journey uninterruptedly between Laroche and Paris.
Consulting the Judge, and laying these facts before him, it was agreed that the Italian’s offer seemed the most important, and he was accordingly called in next.
“Who and what are you?” asked the Judge, carelessly, but the answer roused him at once to intense interest, and he could not quite resist a glance of reproach at M. Floçon.
“My name I have given you—Natale Ripaldi. I am a detective officer belonging to the Roman police.”
“What!” cried M. Floçon, colouring deeply. “This is unheard of. Why in the name of all the devils have you withheld this most astonishing statement until now?”
“Monsieur surely remembers. I told him half an hour ago I had something important to communicate—”
“Yes, yes, of course. But why were you so reticent. Good Heavens!”
“Monsieur was not so encouraging that I felt disposed to force on him what I knew he would have to hear in due course.”
“It is monstrous—quite abominable, and shall not end here. Your superiors shall hear of your conduct,” went on the Chief, hotly.