"Because she's not there any longer. On the evening after the murder she left me and I haven't seen her since. A few days after she had gone she wrote me a note, saying, 'Don't worry about me. I am very happy. Take care of the child.'"
There was a quick shuffling of feet and exclamations of pity and sympathy swept across the court. The usher frowned and pounded his desk again. The President's face softened as he watched Victor wiping away his tears, and he gave him time to recover before requesting him to go on.
"At about half-past five, as I was taking water to a room on the same floor," said Victor at last, "I heard a shot fired and a shriek in Room 24. I rushed in and found M. Laroque lying on the floor in front of his wife, who held a smoking revolver in her hand. I took the revolver away from her and held her tight."
"Did she say anything?"
"She said, 'There's no hurry. I shan't try to get away.' Then the police came and took her off."
"That's all you know?"
"Yes, M. the President."
"The prisoner is the woman you call Madame Laroque, is she?"
Victor gazed at the white face above Raymond's head.
"Yes, M. the President," he said. The President looked in the same direction.