To Noel he would also have to tell the truth: hurl him to earth, after having raised him among the clouds. What a blow it would be! But, without a doubt, the count would make him some compensation; at least, he ought to.
“Now,” murmured the magistrate, “who can be the criminal?”
An idea crossed his mind, at first it seemed to him absurd. He rejected it, then thought of it again. He examined it in all its various aspects. He had almost adopted it, when M. de Commarin entered. M. Daburon’s messenger had arrived just as the count was alighting from his carriage, on returning with Claire from Madame Gerdy’s.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Old Tabaret talked, but he acted also.
Abandoned by the investigating magistrate to his own resources, he set to work without losing a minute and without taking a moment’s rest.
The story of the cabriolet, drawn by a swift horse, was exact in every particular.
Lavish with his money, the old fellow had gathered together a dozen detectives on leave or rogues out of work; and at the head of these worthy assistants, seconded by his friend Lecoq, he had gone to Bougival.
He had actually searched the country, house by house, with the obstinacy and the patience of a maniac hunting for a needle in a hay-stack.