“Do you know the driver’s number?”
“Casimir asked him for it, I believe.”
Had any one inquired the reason of this semi-official examination, the magistrate would have replied that Mademoiselle Marguerite’s interests alone influenced him in the course he was taking. This was quite true; and yet, without being altogether conscious of the fact, he was also impelled by another motive. This affair interested, almost fascinated, him on account of its mysterious surroundings, and influenced by the desire for arriving at the truth which is inherent in every human heart, he was anxious to solve the riddle. After a few moments’ thoughtful silence, he remarked: “So the point of departure in our investigation, if there is an investigation, will be this: M. de Chalusse left the house with two millions in his possession; and while he was absent, he either disposed of that enormous sum—or else it was stolen from him.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite shuddered. “Oh! stolen,” she faltered.
“Yes, my child—anything is possible. We must consider the situation in every possible light. But to continue. Where was M. de Chalusse going?”
“To the house of a gentleman who would, he thought, be able to furnish the address given in the letter he had torn up.”
“What was this gentleman’s name?”
“Fortunat.”
The magistrate wrote the name down on his tablets, and then, resuming his examination, he said: “Now, in reference to this unfortunate letter which, in your opinion, was the cause of the count’s death, what did it say?”
“I don’t know, monsieur. It is true that I helped the count in collecting the fragments, but I did not read what was written on them.”