"What is this?" asked the latter.
"His own confession, written by himself and—Quick!" he cried, and sprang toward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound the old fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused in time to seize and stay his hand.
"Excuse me, your Honor," apologized the detective, "the man was going to kill himself."
"It's false!" screamed the baron. "I was getting my handkerchief."
"Here's the handkerchief," said Tignol, holding up a pistol.
At this there was fresh tumult in the audience, with men cursing and women shrieking.
The judge turned gravely to De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I have a painful duty to perform, sir. Take this man out—under arrest, and—clear the room."
M. Paul sank weakly into a chair and watched idly while the attendants led away the unresisting millionaire, watched keenly as the judge opened the baron's diary and began to read. He noted the magistrate's start of amazement, the eager turning of pages and the increasingly absorbed attention.
"Astounding! Incredible!" muttered the judge. "A great achievement! I congratulate you, M. Coquenil. It's the most brilliant coup I have ever known. It will stir Paris to the depths and make you a—a hero."
"Thank you, thank you," murmured the sick man.