“Pray, monsieur, do not persist in a denial; you will compel me to prove that four clerks saw him throw you a note written in pencil and closely folded.”
Cavaillon saw the folly of further contradicting a man so well informed; so he changed his tactics, and said:
“It is true Prosper gave me a note this morning; but it was intended for me alone, and after reading it I tore it up, and threw the pieces in the fire.”
This might be the truth. Fanferlot feared so; but how could he assure himself of the fact? He remembered that the most palpable tricks often succeed the best, and trusting to his star, he said at hazard:
“Permit me to observe that this statement is not correct; the note was intrusted to you to give to Gypsy.”
A despairing gesture from Cavaillon apprised the detective that he was not mistaken; he breathed again.
“I swear to you, monsieur,” began the young man.
“Do not swear, monsieur,” interrupted Fanferlot; “all the oaths in the world would be useless. You not only preserved the note, but you came to this house for the purpose of giving it to Gypsy, and it is in your pocket now.”
“No, monsieur, no!”
Fanferlot paid no attention to this denial, but continued in his gentlest tone: