Having finished writing, the magistrate rang for his servant, who soon appeared.
“Here,” said he, “are two letters, which you must take to my clerk, Constant. Tell him to read them, and to have the orders they contain executed at once,—at once, you understand. Run, take a cab, and be quick! Ah! one word. If Constant is not in my office, have him sought for; he will not be far off, as he is waiting for me. Go quickly!”
M. Daburon then turned and said to Claire: “Have you kept the letter, mademoiselle, in which M. Albert asked for this interview?”
“Yes, sir, I even think I have it with me.”
She arose, felt in her pocket, and drew out a much crumpled piece of paper.
“Here it is!”
The investigating magistrate took it. A suspicion crossed his mind. This compromising letter happened to be very conveniently in Claire’s pocket; and yet young girls do not usually carry about with them requests for secret interviews. At a glance, he read the ten lines of the note.
“No date,” he murmured, “no stamp, nothing at all.”
Claire did not hear him; she was racking her brain to find other proofs of the interview.
“Sir,” said she suddenly, “it often happens, that when we wish to be, and believe ourselves alone, we are nevertheless observed. Summon, I beseech you, all of my grandmother’s servants, and inquire if any of them saw Albert that night.”