“Told me what?” asked Paichoux, with a provoking smile.
“Why, why, that all those things marked J. C. were stolen from that child’s mother; and this watch is a part of the same property, and she never was a Jozain—”
“Not so fast, Modeste; not so fast.”
“Then, what was Raste Jozain in the Recorder’s Court for?”
“He was arrested on suspicion, but they couldn’t prove anything.”
“For this?” asked Tante Modeste, looking at the watch.
“No, it was another charge, but his having such a valuable watch went against him. It seems like a providence, my getting it. I just happened to be passing the Recorder’s Court, and, glancing in, I saw that precious rascal in the dock. I knew him, but he didn’t know me. So I stepped in to see what the scrape was. It seems that he was arrested on the suspicion of being one of a gang who have robbed a number of jewelry stores. They couldn’t prove anything against him on that charge; but the watch and chain puzzled the Recorder like the mischief. He asked Raste where he got it, and he was ready with his answer, ‘It belonged to my cousin who died some time ago; she left it to my mother, and my mother gave it to me.’”
“‘What was her name?’ asked the Recorder.
“‘Claire Jozain,’ the scamp answered promptly.
“‘But this is J. C.,’ said the Recorder, examining the letters closely. ‘I should certainly say that the J. came first. What do you think, gentlemen?’ and he handed the watch to his clerk and some others; and they all thought from the arrangement of the letters that it was J. C., and while this discussion was going on, the fellow stood there smiling as impudent and cool as if he was the first gentleman in the city. He’s a handsome fellow, and well dressed, and the image of his father. Any one who had ever seen André Jozain would know that Raste was his son, and he’s in a fair way to end his days in Andre’s company.”