Lépine returned the telegrams to his pocket.
"I agree with you," he said, "that that is the vital question. And I am unable to answer it."
"I shall institute a Board of Inquiry at once," went on the Minister; "I have, in fact, already summoned the officers who will compose it. I will arrange for it to visit the wreck and begin to take evidence to-day, as it is important that the evidence be secured while the event is still fresh. I would suggest that you place some of your men at the disposition of the Board."
"Very well, sir," Lépine agreed, and withdrew.
Toulon was awake again, and the streets were thronged as on a fête day. The first shock of the disaster had passed, and the inborn cheerfulness of the people was asserting itself. The excuse for a holiday was not to be overlooked, and every one who could take a day, or even an hour of leisure, did so, and spent it partly on the quays staring at the wreck, partly in the Place de la Liberté listening to the orators, partly in the Place d'Armes watching the men at work draping with black the Maritime Prefecture, where the Board of Inquiry was to sit, and the church of Saint Louis, where requiem High Mass was to be celebrated. Finally as much as remained of the holiday was spent at a café before a glass of coffee or apéritif, with the satisfaction of a sacred duty conscientiously performed.
Lépine, as he made his way through the crowd, noticed that there was no longer any talk of treachery or treason,—even the word "sabotage" was no longer uttered. Every one agreed that the affair was another accident, deplorable indeed, but unavoidable and without dishonour, and so not to be taken too deeply to heart. France could build other battleships! The mercury in the national temperament was asserting itself.
For an hour Lépine walked about with thoughtful face, listening to the talk, watching the crowd, joining a group here and there, catching chance words from passers-by. He had had only three hours' sleep, but he showed no trace of fatigue. Certainly nothing was farther from his thoughts at this moment than that he needed rest.
He made his way at last to the Quai de Cronstadt and joined the crowd which was staring at the wreck. A barge had been moored alongside, and a heavy crane was lifting the detached débris into it and clearing the way for the searching parties. On the quay opposite the wreck, at Number Ten, was a café, the Café des Voyageurs as its sign announced, and to this Lépine presently crossed, sat down at a table and ordered a bock.
The café was crowded, for its situation could not have been more fortunate; a steady stream of money had poured into the pockets of its proprietor ever since the disaster. The shattered windows were in themselves an advertisement, and no effort had as yet been made to replace them. Lépine looked about the place with interest. It was not large, but it had a certain air of prosperity bespeaking a good patronage, even at ordinary times. At the Prefecture, Lépine had made some discreet inquiries concerning its proprietor, who, he was told, had the reputation of being an honest fellow and had never been in trouble with the police. Nevertheless, as a friend of Crochard's, Lépine would have welcomed a look at him; but the place at the moment was apparently in charge of the head-waiter. It was the head-waiter himself who responded when Lépine rapped for the "addition," and, as he paid it, slipped a note into his hand. Lépine opened it, under cover of his hat, and found that it contained a single line:
"Monsieur C. will welcome a conference with Monsieur L."