"Your address?"
"No. 62 Rue Fribourg, Paris."
"Tell us what you know about the murder of Laroque!" the President commanded, and leaned back in his chair. M. Perissard's manner had not deceived him in the slightest measure. He knew the breed; and, knowing that the witness was a shrewd man, he tried to put him at a disadvantage by making him tell the story without questions.
But M. Perissard knew the danger of that system of examination as well as did the President.
"I know nothing about it at all, M. the President!" he declared earnestly. "I know absolutely nothing! And I cannot understand——"
"Did you know Laroque?" interrupted the judge, abruptly. M. Perissard shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.
"I used to know him years ago in Paris," he admitted, with a fine air of candor. "About six months ago I received a letter from him asking for work. I offered him a place in my office, and I went to see him when he arrived. That's all!"
Something familiar in the sound of his voice brought Floriot out of the stupor that succeeded the agony he had suffered. He raised his haggard face from his hands and met M. Perissard's eyes fixed upon him. He recognized him at once.
"Did you come from Paris to Bordeaux on purpose to see him?" pursued the examiner.
"No, M. the President, I had to come to Bordeaux to start a branch of my Paris house here."