“The young man has deceived us,” said the magistrate. “This gun has not been used recently.”
“Ah, here it is,” exclaimed Jean Manant, at this juncture, bringing to light another rifle. This was not so old as Bruno’s, but there was nothing modern about it. Jean Manant quickly detected that one of the cartridges was missing. It became more and more evident that Fadard was the guilty man.
“Monsieur Morris extracted the lead from poor Barrau’s chest, this morning,” said Sidonie. “Let us compare its size with that of the cartridges in the gun just found.”
“A good notion, little one,” said Jean, suiting the action to the word. The bullet taken from Savin’s body exactly fitted the cartridge in the barrel of Fadard’s rifle, and his guilt was now fully established.
Léocadia alone attempted to explain the case differently.
“But Savin Barrau forced Firmin to fight with him. Why may he not have pushed Fadard to the wall and made him fire in self-defence?”
“Impossible! Savin was close to the muzzle of the gun that shot him.”
Mademoiselle Faillot reflected for a moment and then scrutinized the oak-tree which had been slightly blazed by the shot.
“Pardon me, but between the point where my cousin stood and this spot there must have been quite a distance. It was dark. The two adversaries may have found themselves all at once in close proximity, and Savin may have hidden behind the bushes. Then——”
As she spoke she shook the tree with a feverish hand, and the snow fluttered down, revealing at the fork of one of the branches a bit of half-burned paper. The magistrate stepped forward and took it.