The Sin That Was His

by Frank L. Packard

And then, inside the doorway, Raymond quickened his step. From the closed door at the end of the short hallway came the low murmur of voices. It was Madame Lafleur probably who was there with the other now. How much, how little had the man said—since Valérie had left the room? Raymond's lips tightened grimly. It was fortunate that Madame Lafleur had so great a respect for the cloth! He had nothing to fear from her. He could make her believe anything. He could twist her around his finger, and—he opened the door softly—and stood, as though turned suddenly rigid, incapable of movement, upon the threshold—and his hand upon the doorknob closed tighter and tighter in a vise-like grip. Across the room stood, not Madame Lafleur, but Monsieur Dupont, the assistant chief of the Tournayville police, and in Monsieur Dupont's hand was a notebook, and upon Monsieur Dupont's lips, as he turned and glanced quickly toward the door, there played an enigmatical smile.

“Ah! It is Monsieur le Curé!” observed Monsieur Dupont smoothly. “Well, come in, Monsieur le Curé—come in, and shut the door. I promise you, you will find it interesting. What? Yes, very interesting!”

“Oh, Monsieur Dupont is here!”—the words seemed to come to Raymond as from some great distance behind him.

He turned. It was Valérie. Of course, it was Valérie! He had forgotten. She had naturally followed him along the hall to the door. What did this Dupont mean by what he had said? What had Dupont already learned—that was so interesting! It would not do to have Valérie here, if—if he and Dupont——

“Perhaps, Mademoiselle Valérie,” he said gravely, “it would be as well if you did not come in. Monsieur Dupont appears to be officially engaged.”

“But, of course!” she agreed readily. “I did not know that any one was here. I left the man alone when I ran out to find you. I will come back when Monsieur Dupont has gone.”

And Raymond smiled, and stepped inside the room, and closed the door, and leaned with his back against it.

“Well, Monsieur le Curé”—Monsieur Dupont tapped with his pencil on the notebook—“I have it all down here. All! Everything that he has said.”

Raymond had not even glanced toward the bed—his eyes, cool, steady now, were on the officer, watching the other like a hawk.

“Yes?” he prompted calmly.