He walked around the office.
“Is this door closed at night?” he inquired.
“It is always locked.”
“And who keeps the key?”
“The office-boy, to whom I always give it in charge before leaving the bank,” said Prosper.
“This boy,” said M. Fauvel, “sleeps in the outer room on a sofa-bedstead, which he unfolds at night, and folds up in the morning.”
“Is he here now?” inquired the commissary.
“Yes, monsieur,” answered the banker.
He opened the door and called:
“Anselme!”