Between plausible falsehood, and improbable truth, justice—human justice, and therefore liable to error—is compelled to decide as best it can. For the past hour M. Segmuller had not been free from mental disquietude. But all his doubts vanished when he heard the prisoner declare that the two women were tall and dark. If he had said: “The women were fair,” M. Segmuller would not have known what to believe, but in the magistrate’s opinion the audacious falsehood he had just heard proved that there was a perfect understanding between the supposed murderer and Widow Chupin.
Certainly, M. Segmuller’s satisfaction was great; but his face did not betray it. It was of the utmost importance that the prisoner should believe that he had succeeded in deceiving his examiner. “You must understand how necessary it is to find these women,” said the magistrate kindly.
“If their testimony corresponds with your allegations, your innocence will be proved conclusively.”
“Yes, I understand that; but how can I put my hand upon them?”
“The police can assist you—our agents are always at the service of prisoners who desire to make use of them in establishing their innocence. Did you make any observations which might aid in the discovery of these women?”
Lecoq, whose eyes never wandered from the prisoner’s face, fancied that he saw the faint shadow of a smile on the man’s lips.
“I remarked nothing,” said the prisoner coldly.
M. Segmuller had opened the drawer of his desk a moment before. He now drew from it the earring which had been found on the scene of the tragedy, and handing it abruptly to the prisoner, he asked: “So you didn’t notice this in the ear of one of the women?”
The prisoner’s imperturbable coolness of demeanor did not forsake him. He took the jewel in his hand, examined it attentively, held it up to the light, admired its brilliant scintillations, and said: “It is a very handsome stone, but I didn’t notice it.”
“This stone,” remarked the magistrate, “is a diamond.”