“But you are at liberty now to give it up,” replied M. Folgat, “provided always a certain house in Vine Street should not prove too small for your ambition.”
The pale face of the detective recovered its color for a moment.
“Will they really give it to me?” he asked.
“Since you have discovered the real criminal, and handed him over to justice.”
“Well, then, I will bless these wounds: I feel that I shall be up again in a fortnight. Give me quick pen and ink, that I may write my resignation immediately, and tell my wife the good news.”
He was interrupted by the entrance of one of the officers of the court, who, walking up to the commonwealth attorney, said to him respectfully,—
“Sir, the priest from Brechy is waiting for you at your office.”
“I am coming directly,” replied M. Daubigeon.
And, turning to his companions, he said,—
“Let us go, gentlemen.”