Madame Cormier breathed a profound sigh of deliverance.
“You see,” she said to her son.
“And the doctor’s opinion is not the opinion of the first-comer, it is not even that of an ordinary physician. It is that of the physician who has certified to the death, and who, more than any one, has power, has authority, to say how it was given—by surprise, without struggle, without a button being pulled off.”
“It is not Doctor Saniel who directs the search of the police, or who inspires it,” replied Florentin. “His opinion does not produce a criminal, while the button can—at least for those who believe in the struggle; and between the two the police will not hesitate.
“Already the newspapers laugh at them for not having discovered the assassin, who has rejoined all the others they have let escape. They must follow the track they have started on, and this track—”
He lowered his voice:
“It will lead them here.”
“To do that they must pass by the Avenue de Clichy, and that seems unlikely.”
“It is the possible that torments me, and not the unlikely, and you cannot but recognize that what I fear is possible. I was at Caffies the day of the crime. I lost there a button torn off by violence. This button picked up by the police proves, according to them, the criminality of the one who lost it. They will find that I am the one—”
“They will not find you.”