“Where does he live?”
“In Paris, Rue Louis, 39.”
“Do you write to him there? For I dare say you have written to him since you have been in Saigon.”
“I send my letters to M. X. O. X. 88.”
It became evident now, that, so far from endeavoring to save his accomplices, Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, would do all he could to aid justice in discovering them. He began to show the system which the wretch was about to adopt,—to throw all the responsibility and all the odium of the crime on the man who had hired him, and to appear the poor devil, succumbing to destitution when he was tempted and dazzled by such magnificent promises, that he had not the strength to resist. The lawyer continued,—
“Where and how did you make the acquaintance of this Justin Chevassat?”
“I made his acquaintance at the galleys.”
“Ah! that is becoming interesting. And do you know for what crime he had been condemned?”
“For forgery, I believe, and also for theft.”
“And what was he doing before he was condemned?”