Greatly troubled and perplexed by Mademoiselle d’Arlange’s revelations, M. Daburon was ascending the stairs that led to the offices of the investigating magistrates, when he saw old Tabaret coming towards him. The sight pleased him, and he at once called out: “M. Tabaret!”
But the old fellow, who showed signs of the most intense agitation, was scarcely disposed to stop, or to lose a single minute.
“You must excuse me, sir,” he said, bowing, “but I am expected at home.”
“I hope, however—”
“Oh, he is innocent,” interrupted old Tabaret. “I have already some proofs; and before three days—But you are going to see Gevrol’s man with the earrings. He is very cunning, Gevrol; I misjudged him.”
And without listening to another word, he hurried away, jumping down three steps at a times, at the risk of breaking his neck.
M. Daburon, greatly disappointed, also hastened on.
In the passage, on a bench of rough wood before his office door, Albert sat awaiting him, under the charge of a Garde de Paris.
“You will be summoned immediately, sir,” said the magistrate to the prisoner, as he opened his door.
In the office, Constant was talking with a skinny little man, who might have been taken, from his dress, for a well-to-do inhabitant of Batignolles, had it not been for the enormous pin in imitation gold which shone in his cravat, and betrayed the detective.