The old servant ventured to shrug his shoulders slightly, and replied,—
“How could I? When the examination was over, that man, Galpin, put the seals everywhere,—strips of linen, fastened on with sealing-wax, as they do with dead people. He put one on every opening, and on some of them two. He put three on the outer door. Then he told me that he appointed me keeper of the house, that I would be paid for it, but that I would be sent to the galleys if any one touched the seals with the tip of the finger. When he had handed master over to the gendarmes, that man, Galpin, went away, leaving me here alone, dumfounded, like a man who has been knocked in the head. Nevertheless, I should have come to you, sir, but I had an idea, and that gave me the shivers.”
Grandpapa Chandore stamped his foot, and said,—
“Come to the point, to the point!”
“It was this: you must know, gentlemen, that, in the examination, that breech-loading gun played a prominent part. That man, Galpin looked at it carefully, and asked master when he had last fired it off. Master said, ‘About five days ago. You hear, I say, five days.’ Thereupon, that man, Galpin, puts the gun down, without looking at the barrels.”
“Well?” asked M. Folgat.
“Well, sir, I—Anthony—I had the evening before—I say the evening before—cleaned the gun, washed it, and”—
“Upon my word,” cried M. de Chandore, “why did you not say so at once? If the barrels are clean, that is an absolute proof that Jacques is innocent.”
The old servant shook his head, and said,—
“To be sure, sir. But are they clean?”