Madame Leon had hitherto been dumb with fear, but, conquering her weakness, she now decided to draw near and take part in the conversation. “How can you say that, my dear young lady?” she exclaimed. “You know that the count—God rest his soul!—was an extremely cautious man. I am certain that there is a will somewhere.”
The magistrate’s eyes were fixed on his ring. “It would be well to look, perhaps, before affixing the seals. You have a right to require this; so, if you wish——”
But she made no reply.
“Oh, yes!” insisted Madame Leon; “pray look, monsieur.”
“But where should we be likely to find a will?”
“Certainly in this room—in this escritoire, or in one of the deceased count’s cabinets.”
The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but all the same he asked: “Where is the key to this escritoire?”
“Alas! monsieur,” replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, “I broke it last night when M. de Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to avert what has, nevertheless, happened. Besides, I knew that his escritoire contained something over two millions in gold and bank-notes.”
Two millions—there! The occupants of the room stood aghast. Even the clerk was so startled that he let a blot fall upon his paper. Two millions! The magistrate was evidently reflecting. “Hum!” he murmured, meditatively. Then, as if deciding on his course, he exclaimed:
“Let a locksmith be sent for.”