"Louis de Malreich underwent the death-penalty this morning. . . ."
He read no more. Thunderstruck, crushed, he fell into the premier's chair with a moan of despair. . . .
How long he remained like that he could not say. When he was outside again, he remembered a great silence and then Valenglay bending over him and sprinkling water on his forehead. He remembered, above all, the premier's hushed voice whispering:
"Listen . . . you won't say anything about this will you? Innocent, perhaps, I don't say not. . . . But what is the use of revelations, of a scandal? A judicial error can have serious consequences. Is it worth while? . . . A rehabilitation? For what purpose? He was not even sentenced under his own name. It is the name of Malreich which is held up to public execration . . . the name of the real criminal, as it happens. . . . So . . ."
And, pushing Lupin gradually toward the door, he said:
"So go. . . . Go back there. . . . Get rid of the corpse. . . . And let not a trace remain, eh? Not the slightest trace of all this business. . . . I can rely on you, can I not?"
And Lupin went back. He went back like a machine, because he had been told to do so and because he had no will left of his own.
He waited for hours at the railway-station. Mechanically, he ate his dinner, took a ticket and settled down in a compartment.