"Oh, no," sighed the doorkeeper. "An execution was put in only the other day by one of his creditors."
"Nevertheless, he lived in handsome style," replied the secretary, "and it is very probable that he had more or less money in the house or about his person; in fact, judging from the apparent disorder of his clothing, it seems more than likely that his pockets were searched after his death. But I will detain you no longer, gentlemen. You will hold yourselves, of course, at the disposal of the authorities—I have your address."
"Certainly, sir," said Puymirol, who had had quite enough of this covert examination. George Caumont was also anxious to get away, for this talk in the presence of his friend's lifeless body made him sick at heart. The valet was about to beat a retreat with them, but the dismissal was not for him, for the secretary remarked drily: "Remain. The commissary will want to talk with you."
"I hope you have no further need of me," now said the doorkeeper.
"Yes, I have, but I shall not keep you long."
M. Pinchon's dismay was pitiful to behold, and the two friends hastily availed themselves of the permission to depart. "What do you think of this catastrophe?" inquired Puymirol, as soon as they reached the street.
"I really don't know what to think of it, and I must admit that I shall make no attempt to solve the mystery. The authorities will take charge of that."
"Well, Dargental did me many good turns, and I should like to avenge his death, for I really believe he was murdered."
"Indeed! But whom do you suspect? And what do you suppose was the object of the crime? Robbery?"
"No, he had nothing but debts. The porter, you recollect, told us that his furniture had been attached. Some woman committed the murder. A woman who was or who had been in love with him."