I called on the Procureur de la République, who was then M. Monnier, at the Palace of Justice. Marthe accompanied me, and was present at the interview, which I will relate with absolute accuracy. M. Monnier, a very small man, with an expressionless face, and eyes that seemed to avoid meeting the eyes of those who addressed him, asked me what I wished.
"I have come," I began, "to entreat you to give orders for the various clues not to be abandoned, but followed up with the utmost vigour...."
The Procureur seemed quite surprised. Then, without hesitation, and in a lordly and lazy tone which clearly meant, "This affair does not interest me in the least," he replied: "Madame, we are following up some clues.... There's the Noretti clue—a friend of Mr. Burlingham—for instance.... That person is in Nice.... If you want us to go on with that clue it would be better for you to go to Nice yourself... and pay your expenses, of course...."
I started and said: "What! I should pay to assist the law in tracing the murderers!... Why! I have spent enough money as it is.... Even when I was asked to go to Boulogne for that examination—which you know I might have refused to go through, because of the state of my health—I had to pay about one hundred francs out of my own pocket for the motor-ambulance which took me!"...
The Procureur then said: "I should not mention Boulogne, if I were you.... Do you know that I prevented your arrest that day?"...
I could hardly believe what I heard. His cold hard words and tone stung me into revolt, and I exclaimed: "I wish I had been arrested. There was and there is nothing against me. You would have had to release me almost immediately. I should have been vindicated, and all attacks would have ceased.... You know there exists nothing against me!"...
"That's just why I prevented your arrest, Madame."
What could I reply to that. I shrugged my shoulders and waited. The Procureur pursued: "Really, why don't you keep quiet.... I fail to see what you expect of life!... You have your daughter, you have still a few friends.... What more do you want!... Also I read in the New York Herald that you are going to let part of your house—to wealthy Americans, I presume?"...
"Do you waste your time, then, reading 'apartment' advertisements, Monsieur le Procureur?" I remarked.... "As a matter of fact, I am trying to let part of my house, but I have found no tenant yet.... There are other people I am more anxious to find: the murderers.... Public rumours, as you are well aware, give out that I am the guilty person, and this must cease. The law must do its duty...."
Once again M. Monnier's eyebrows went up in surprise. He sighed, and then, looking not at me but at my daughter, he replied, in the same hopelessly slow and bored tone: "We do our very best, Madame, I assure you.... I can only say you have the affection of your daughter, a few friends, a pretty house, enough to live upon.... What more do you want?... Really, really, you should never expect too much of life."