On Sunday, May 31st, 1908, at about 10 P.M. a contrôleur of the Paris Métropolitain (Underground) called Villemant, picked up in a carriage of that railway two documents which had some connection the one with the other.
One was a visiting card bearing the name of Mme. Mazeline, on which were written the address of two wig-makers and of a theatrical costumier called Guilbert, and a card of invitation to the exhibition of M. Steinheil's paintings, in the Impasse Ronsin. The two were together on the floor of the compartment, and had undoubtedly been lost by the same individual.
M. Villemant also stated that the seat where he had found the two documents "had just been left by a young man, wearing a smock; that he appeared to be intoxicated, that he was playing with gold pieces, in his purse, and that the carriage was a 'first-class' one!"
Now, on May 30th, 1908, six hours before the murder, three black gowns and a long black cloak similar in all ways to those worn by the three men and the red-haired woman, which I had fully described, were stolen from the "Hebrew Theatre" in Paris, and it was from the very M. Guilbert whose name and address were scribbled on the card found in the Underground together with the invitation card to M. Steinheil's exhibition, that the three black gowns and the long black cloak had been hired by the "Hebrew Theatre!"
Why was I not told about all these important facts at once? Why did I only hear of them weeks and weeks after they had taken place?... That passes my understanding.
I grant that they could not be disclosed to the newspapers, for though the Press is often very useful to the police—in giving the description, for instance, or publishing the portrait of some wanted person—it must be admitted that the publication of a clue which can be followed to a successful issue only if the criminals are unaware of what is going forward, is likely to defeat the object of the police.
Why this sensational discovery of the theft of the gaberdines, a few hours before the murder, was not revealed to the newspapers, although many published attacks—veiled and indirect but none the less transparent—against me, such a revelation would of course have proved my absolute innocence beyond all doubt. It seems to me an unpardonable act of cruelty not to have informed me of this most essential development in the mystery of the Impasse Ronsin. It might have been necessary to swear me to secrecy, but was it not enough, in order to ensure my complete discretion, to tell me that the clue would lose all its value if I were in the least indiscreet! It might be objected that the conduct of the police was no business of mine. But my circumstances were unusual. Many newspapers were publishing articles which more or less roused public opinion against me. My narrative of the fatal night made thousands shrug their shoulders. It was "incredible" that men would disguise themselves in the manner I had described... I had "invented" this "fantastic account"... and so forth. Now, the discovery of the theft—a few hours before the crime—of three black gowns which tallied in every way with that which I had given of the costumes worn by the murderers, completely vindicated me. And if the police did not wish to inform the public of this startling fact, they ought at least to have informed me, if only to give me the courage to withstand the dreadful insinuations of certain journals; to bear with equanimity the ordeal of all those suspicions in which I felt myself more and more enveloped. For then I should have felt that the time would soon come when it would be no longer against the interests of the public to let the whole world know that I had spoken the truth, to acquaint the public with the discovery of the theft at the Hebrew Theatre, and thus to proclaim my innocence and put an end to all attacks and suspicions.
Of the two cards so miraculously found by the Underground contrôleur and handed by him to the police, one, as I have stated, was a card of invitation to my husband's exhibition, and the other bore the name of a certain Mme. Mazeline, and the addresses of two wig-makers and that of M. Guilbert, a theatrical costumier.
Mme. Mazeline, a painter of repute, was then sixty-two, I had known her well in the days of President Faure. She had resided many years at Le Hâvre, Félix Faure's birth-place, and had been on terms of friendship with Félix Faure and his family. She had begun painting a portrait of the President in his studio at the Elysée, shortly before his death and had to complete the portrait from memory. The portrait was shown at the Salon.
Mme. Mazeline and I have never met since the death of the President.