This time Puymirol hesitated. It was too great a risk to mention George Caumont's name, for George, who was ignorant of the real situation of affairs, would simply tell the truth, and then the pocket-book, which Puymirol no longer possessed, would come into question; and besides, George would probably hand over the letters. Perhaps he would even tell the magistrate that one of the letters was written by the Countess de Lescombat, and one of the others probably by Blanche Pornic, in which case the least that could happen to Puymirol would be a conviction for perjury; so hoping to avert this new danger by a falsehood, he replied unblushingly: "I was alone."
"There is nothing left for us, then, but to try and find the driver," replied the commissary coldly, "and we may, perhaps, succeed in finding him. We have the exact date, as well as the point of departure, and the place of destination. We will make inquiries at the office of the cab company, and at all the livery stables. If the driver remembers the occurrence he can give us the clue we want."
Puymirol knew perfectly well that the driver would recollect the occurrence, as he had given the mysterious stranger who had purloined the pocket-book full information about it, so seeing that he was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, he decided to make a bold attempt to cut the interview short. "I reproach myself bitterly for having yielded to a temptation for which I blush," he said. "You must blame me very severely, but I hope you will not carry matters to extremes. I belong to a respectable family, and my past life is without a stain. I shall be at your disposal, of course, but I ask your permission to withdraw."
"My powers are more limited than you suppose," said the commissary gravely. "The magistrate will pay due attention to your explanation, but you must give it to him in person. He must now be at the Palais de Justice, and I will accompany you there."
"Nothing would please me better. I thought of calling at his office to-day, and as you are kind enough to accompany me—"
"It is my duty."
The commissary then rang. One of the detectives who had remained in the ante-room entered, and received orders to fetch a cab: then, taking up his case of documents, the commissary left the room in company with Puymirol, whose wonted assurance had nearly deserted him. They found the cab at the door, and entered it, one of the detectives climbing upon the box, and seating himself beside the driver. The journey was a silent one, and ended upon the Quai de l'Horloge, at the entrance to the court-yard of the Conciergerie. "Where are you taking me?" asked Puymirol. "Monsieur Robergeot's office is in the building facing the boulevard."
"You will soon be summoned there," replied the commissary. "But I must see him before you do, and in the meanwhile I must consign you to the dépôt of the Prefecture of Police."