“My friend,” I said, “that Larsan case is wonderful. It is worthy of you.”
He begged me to say no more, and humorously pretended an anxiety for me should I give way to silly praise of him because of a personal admiration for his ability.
“I ’ll come to the point, then,” I said, not a little nettled. “I am still in the dark as to your reason for going to America. When you left the Glandier you had found out, if I rightly understand, all about Frédéric Larsan; you had discovered the exact way he had attempted the murder?”
“Quite so. And you,” he said, turning the conversation, “did you suspect nothing?”
“Nothing!”
“It ’s incredible!”
“I don’t see how I could have suspected anything. You took great pains to conceal your thoughts from me. Had you already suspected Larsan when you sent for me to bring the revolvers?”
“Yes! I had come to that conclusion through the incident of the ‘inexplicable gallery.’ Larsan’s return to Mademoiselle Stangerson’s room, however, had not then been cleared up by the eye-glasses. My suspicions were the outcome of my reasoning only; and the idea of Larsan being the murderer seemed so extraordinary that I resolved to wait for actual evidence before venturing to act. Nevertheless, the suspicion worried me, and I sometimes spoke to the detective in a way that ought to have opened your eyes. I spoke disparagingly of his methods. But until I found the eye-glasses I could but look upon my suspicion of him in the light of an absurd hypothesis only. You can imagine my elation after I had explained Larsan’s movements. I remember well rushing into my room like a madman and crying to you: ‘I ’ll get the better of the great Fred. I ’ll get the better of him in a way that will make a sensation!’
“I was then thinking of Larsan, the murderer. It was that same evening that Darzac begged me to watch over Mademoiselle Stangerson. I made no efforts until after we had dined with Larsan, until ten o’clock. He was right there before me, and I could afford to wait. You ought to have suspected, because when we were talking of the murderer’s arrival, I said to you: ‘I am quite sure Larsan will be here to-night.’
“But one important point escaped us both. It was one which ought to have opened our eyes to Larsan. Do you remember the bamboo cane? I was surprised to find Larsan had made no use of that evidence against Robert Darzac. Had it not been purchased by a man whose description tallied exactly with that of Darzac? Well, just before I saw him off at the train, after the recess during the trial, I asked him why he had n’t used the cane evidence. He told me he had never had any intention of doing so; that our discovery of it in the little inn at Epinay had much embarrassed him. If you will remember, he told us then that the cane had been given him in London. Why did we not immediately say to ourselves: ‘Fred is lying. He could not have had this cane in London. He was not in London. He bought it in Paris’? Then you found out, on inquiry at Cassette’s, that the cane had been bought by a person dressed very like Robert Darzac, though, as we learned later, from Darzac himself, it was not he who had made the purchase. Couple this with the fact we already knew, from the letter at the poste restante, that there was actually a man in Paris who was passing as Robert Darzac, why did we not immediately fix on Fred himself?