"Wonderful news! Just what I expected! I did not play such a great fool after all. The Marquis has been ill in bed four days from his wounds and has seen only his physician."
"Are you telling the truth?"
"The gospel truth."
"Have letters come to him?"
"Not one. I played the greenhorn, asking questions. I stumbled on a steward whose tongue is a jewel."
"Is the wound serious?"
"I believe not. It has produced a fever. The knife missed the lung by half a centimeter,—cursed be the devil! Why, we saw him leave Naundorff's house afoot and take a cab for Wellington street."
"Very well! Now, repeat to me in detail all that occurred after the Marquis left the house."
"After remaining within a long time, he came forth, lighted to the door by a woman. Then he started off alone and, on reaching the centre of the square, picked up the knife which we had there forgotten. In doing so, he dropped an object which he carried beneath his arm. This he quickly recovered. It looked rectangular in shape and had a metallic sound on striking the trunk of the tree."
"Did he have the box during the scuffle in the square?"