Freyberger did not seem to fall in with this opinion. He had risen from his chair and was pacing up and down, a sure sign that he was deeply excited or disturbed.
“You are sure of what you say?” he said, suddenly turning on Hellier.
“Certain.”
“You saw these crimes reported in the Petit Journal?”
“Yes.”
“Have you files of the papers?”
“No. I read it in Paris. I can supply you with the dates.”
“No use; I don’t want to know details. Simply the fact that these crimes were committed suffices me.”
“Do you think the fact will be of use to you?” asked the girl.
Freyberger laughed hoarsely. He had let his excitement get away with him. In a flash he had seen the means and the method of laying his hand upon the man he wanted. This was what he had been waiting for, just this accidental sidelight. “Chance will give him to us,” he had told the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department, and now he felt that the chance had come. But he was not going to show his hand, especially before Hellier. He wanted to keep the Gyde case to himself till it was completed, just as a sculptor keeps a statue from view till the moment of unveiling.