Day was just breaking, pale and cool; the sailors disappeared one by one. The doctor was getting ready to lie down on a bed which he had ordered to be put up in a room adjoining that in which the wounded man was lying, when an officer came in. It was one of those who had been standing near Champcey; he, also, was a lieutenant.
“I should like to have a word in private with you, doctor,” he said.
“Very well,” replied the old surgeon. “Be kind enough to come up to my room.” And when they were alone, he locked the door, and said,—
“I am listening.”
The lieutenant thought a moment, like a man who looks for the best form in which to present an important idea, and then said,—
“Between us, doctor, do you believe it was an accident, or a crime?”
The surgeon hesitated visibly.
“I will tell you, but you only, frankly, that I do not believe it was an accident. But as we have no evidence”—
“Pardon me! I think I have evidence.”
“Oh!”