“Yes, let them come!” she cried, taking my arm. “And let them attend to everything! Let them think for us! Whatever may happen, let it come as soon as it will.”
Attracted by the sound of voices we looked around and saw Pere Jacques approaching, followed by two gendarmes. It was the brigadier of la Mortola, who, summoned by Prince Galitch, had hurried to the scene of the crime.
“The gendarmes! the gendarmes! They say that murder has been done!” exclaimed Pere Jacques, who as yet knew nothing of what had happened.
“Be calm, Pere Jacques!” exhorted Rouletabille, and when the old man, panting and breathless, drew near to the reporter, the latter said to him in low tones:
“Nothing is changed, Pere Jacques!”
But Pere Jacques was gazing at Bernier’s body.
“Only one more dead man!” he sighed. “This is Larsan’s work again!”
“It is the work of destiny!” answered Rouletabille.
Larsan and destiny—both were as one. But what did Rouletabille mean by his “Nothing is changed,” if not that, despite the incidental murder of Bernier, everything which we dreaded, which made us shudder and which we had no understanding of, continued just as before?
The gendarmes were busy examining the body and chattering over it in their uncomprehensible jargon. The brigadier informed us that they had telephoned to the Garibaldi Tavern, a few steps away, where at this moment the delegato, or special commissioner, stationed at Vintimille, was even now breakfasting. The delegato would have power to begin the investigation, which would be continued when the examining magistrate had been notified.