“That’s a good point, Marescal,” Ralph admitted. “It’s a point well worth raising. This silence has often bothered me also, this stubborn silence which she has always kept, even with me, who was helping her, and who would have found a confession of the greatest use in my enquiries. But her lips remained closed. And it is here only, in this house, that I have solved this problem. I hope that she will forgive me for having searched her drawers when she was ill. It was necessary. Read these words, Marescal, which are among the instructions which her dying mother, and who had no illusions about Bregeac, left her: ‘Aurelie, whatever happens and whatever the conduct of your step-father may be, never accuse him. Defend him, even if you have to suffer at his hands, even if he is guilty: I have borne his name.’ ”
“But she did not know about Bregeac’s crime,” protested Marescal. “And even if she had known of it, she could not have guessed that it had anything to do [[240]]with the crimes on the express. Bregeac therefore could not have come into the matter.”
“She did know of it.”
“Who from?”
“From Jodot.”
“What proof is there of it?”
“The statement which William’s widowed mother made to me. I hunted her up in Paris, where she lives, and I paid her handsomely for a written statement of all that she knows about the past and the present. Her son told her that in the compartment of the express, face to face with Mademoiselle, above the two dead brothers, with his mask torn off and covered by William’s revolver, Jodot shook his fist at her and said with an oath:
“ ‘If you breathe a word of this business, Aurelie, and give the police my name and I am arrested, I will inform them of the crime committed years ago. It was Bregeac who murdered your grandfather d’Asteux!’
“It was this threat, repeated later at Nice which overwhelmed Aurelie d’Asteux and made her keep silence. Have I spoken the exact truth, Mademoiselle?”
“The exact truth,” she murmured.