"He must be the victim of some mistake. He is quite incapable of any crime."
"That is exactly what I said to the commissary of police, when he asked me for information about your friend."
"Did he say anything about me?" inquired George, eagerly.
"No; your name was not mentioned. He did not even seem to be aware of your existence. If I might venture to give you a little advice, sir, you had better not mix yourself up in this affair. Your friend will get out of the scrape without any assistance; and I have an idea that he prefers to do so; for if he had wanted your help, he would have inquired where you were, or have asked to see you."
This was not a bad argument; at least, it furnished George with abundant food for reflection. On reaching his rooms, he found them exactly as he had left them. He hastened to the desk in which he had locked up the letters. They were still there, and in his perplexity his first idea was to annihilate them. Indeed, he actually lighted a candle with that object. On reflection, however, it occurred to him that although the discovery of these letters, if his—Caumont's—rooms were searched, might aggravate Puymirol's situation, they might also be the means of saving him, by forcing him to tell the truth, instead of maintaining a dangerous silence out of consideration for the Countess de Lescombat, whose reputation was hardly worth defending. Would it not be better to take them to the magistrate? But in that case, both Madame de Lescombat and Blanche Pornic would be mixed up in the affair; and although George cared but little as to what befell the countess, he could not forget that Albert, his prospective brother-in-law, was the actress's admirer, and that he would certainly take her defence. The young officer was indeed so impetuous that he might fight the police agents sent to arrest her, and get himself lodged in jail! And what a blow that would be for Gabrielle. At last in his perplexity, George thought of a plan which seemed tolerably feasible. He resolved to go and see Blanche Pornic. As Albert was to lunch with his mother and sister, there was no fear of meeting him in the Avenue de Messine. "I shall question her, and question her closely," said Caumont to himself. "It will depend entirely upon her answers whether I return her letter to her, or hand it over to the investigating magistrate. At all events I must see that official to-day. The straight road is always the shortest and safest." Thereupon putting the letters in his pocket, George started off upon his campaign.
VII.
Blanche Pornic occupied a handsome suite of rooms on the first floor of a stylish house in the Avenue de Messine, and when George arrived there he found her reclining upon a divan, studying a part in a new play in which she was shortly to perform. "So you have come to see me at last!" she exclaimed. "You have done wisely, for I had about made up my mind to pay you a visit, even at the risk of meeting your friend Puymirol, who can't bear the sight of me. Take a seat here, near me," she continued, "I have a host of things to tell you. I know now that the charming young girl, who engrossed your attention the other day at the horse-show, is Albert's sister, and I suppose she has introduced you to her brother."
"Never mind all that," said George, somewhat harshly. "I have come to talk with you about Dargental's death. Do you know who is accused of the murder?"
"His valet, I heard. But that's absurd unless, indeed, the fellow were in the pay of that Madame de Lescombat."