On May 30th one of the gang steals the black gowns from the Hebrew Theatre early in the evening. Towards midnight the three men, carrying bags containing their disguises enter the Impasse. Possibly there are four of them; the fourth remained on watch in the garden. There is also a red-haired woman with them, probably the mistress of one of the miscreants, who decided to accompany her "man" because there might be some trinkets to gather for herself.
They enter the garden—the gate has only to be pushed. They place a ladder against the wall, but one of them finds that the pantry door is not locked. They enter, light their lanterns, and don their disguises, which they have brought in case some one is about who might recognise one, two, or possibly all three of them. They notice an open cupboard, and seize the cord they see there. It may be handy to fasten parcels of stolen goods. Then they stealthily creep upstairs. They probably expect to find the place empty, though I suppose they knew Couillard slept near the attic on the third floor, which explains perhaps why they did not go to the studio, from which they might have been heard. Nor did they ransack the ground-floor, where besides the kitchen, the offices, the winter-garden, and the hall, the only rooms were the dining-room, and the drawing-room. As a rule, people do not keep their valuables in such places, but rather in their bedrooms.
The first room they see as they reach the first floor, is the one in which I am sleeping. For one moment, the men are taken aback; they mistake me for my daughter, in whose room I am resting. I am startled out of my sleep, and a revolver is pointed at me: "Where is the money?..." They have come to steal, not to kill. I point to the boudoir, the door of which is open. They find the money and take it. They return and ask for the jewels. The chief of the gang, who evidently knows me, asks for the documents.... Whilst the others enter the room where my mother is sleeping, the chief ransacks the boudoir, and finds the dummy parcel of documents, reads the words written on it and is satisfied. Meanwhile, the others—possibly soon joined by the chief—ransack the wardrobe in my mother's room. She cries "Meg, Meg," and tries to jump out of bed.... They pick up some wadding and force it into her mouth. She is stifled.... M. Steinheil has heard the noise, rushes out of his bedroom, but as he reaches the threshold of the bath-room, the men, who have heard him, spring on him, and he is strangled.
They have come to steal, not to kill.... They are anxious to escape. As they pass through my poor mother's room they fasten a cord round her neck, to "make sure." Perhaps they did this before murdering my husband. Hastily, they bind me to my bed, and gag me with wadding. One of the men had knocked over the inkstand in the boudoir; the end of his gown dragged through the pool on the floor, and as he came to my room, left a trail of ink behind him.
The woman wants me to be killed, but the chief of the gang says no. Two murders are quite enough.... All the same, they give me a heavy blow on the head. Then they disappear.
The murder is discovered; my husband's card is found in the Underground; the black gowns are missed....
Is it madness to suppose that if this theory is true, the head of the gang saw the official who probably was wildly alarmed, and that he said to him: "If I am arrested, I shall prove by the paper I possess, that I was ordered to get hold of those documents, and the whole world will say that the Impasse Ronsin affair was a political crime"?
The police make investigations, in vain; the case is dropped; but I recklessly take it up again, convinced that the murderers will be found and resolve to find them. The reader knows the rest.
Possibly, I may even say probably, all this is hopelessly wrong, or contains only a small element of truth. Who knows?
I have a few conclusions to draw from the unusual and tragic experiences I have gone through.