“Ah!”
“Yes; and worth several thousand francs.”
“So much as that!”
This exclamation may have been in accordance with the spirit of the part assumed by the prisoner; though, at the same time, its simplicity was undoubtedly far-fetched. It was strange that a nomad, such as the murderer pretended to have been, acquainted with most of the countries and capitals of Europe, should have displayed this astonishment on learning the value of a diamond. Still, M. Segmuller did not seem to notice the discrepancy.
“Another thing,” said he. “When you threw down your pistol, crying, ‘Come and take me,’ what did you intend to do?”
“I intended to make my escape.”
“In what way?”
“Why, of course, by the door, sir—by—”
“Yes, by the back door,” retorted the magistrate, with freezing irony. “It remains for you to explain how you—you who had just entered that hovel for the first time—could have known of this door’s existence.”
For once, in the course of the examination, the prisoner seemed troubled. For an instant all his assurance forsook him. He evidently perceived the danger of his position, and after a considerable effort he contrived to burst out in a laugh. His laugh was a poor one, however; it rang false, and failed to conceal a sensation of deep anxiety. Growing gradually bolder, he at length exclaimed: “That’s nonsense, I had just seen these two women go out by that very door.”