“We must find some witnesses.”
“Where? Not a soul knew of the affair, except my mother.”
“That receipt!” said M. Rodoin, mournfully, as he rose. “However, it is they, fortunately, who have to prove their assertions. They will have to bring forward the man from whom they assert you took the letter, monsieur le baron.”
“Oh, I can forewarn you what will be their line on that point,” returned Léon, easily, “and I shall have to confess to an impulse of curiosity. The man was André, Monsieur de Cadanet’s concierge. He overtook me as I left the house, carrying Monsieur de Cadanet’s letters. Here comes the curiosity. Monsieur de Cadanet had talked of a letter which he meant to despatch to Monsieur Lemaire, and of which he told me the contents. I had an absurd desire to know whether it had gone, and asked André to let me look at the letters. I had them in my hand for moment, and returned them.”
“Was the letter there?” asked M. Rodoin, startled.
“Certainly, and three others.”
“And you gave them back?”
“Ask André. He will, I think, acquit me of having retained any,” said Léon, with no change of manner. “But there lies their point.”
“It was unfortunate,” said M. Rodoin, thoughtfully.
“But hardly criminal,” put in Nathalie.