“Not yet,” said Don Luis, who was still hunting around him. “Listen to me. I’ll tell you what I know, captain, and I’ll tell it you straight out, without trying to dazzle you by a parade of reasoning and without even telling you of the tiny trifles that serve me as proofs. The bare facts, that’s all. Well, then . . .”
“Yes?”
“Little Mother Coralie kept the appointment at nine o’clock. Siméon was there with his female accomplice. Between them they bound and gagged her and brought her here. Observe that, in their eyes, it was a safe spot for the job, because they knew for certain that you and I had not discovered the trap. Nevertheless, we may assume that it was a provisional base of operations, adopted for part of the night only, and that Siméon reckoned on leaving Little Mother Coralie in the hands of his accomplice and setting out in search of a definite place of confinement, a permanent prison. But luckily—and I’m rather proud of this—Ya-Bon was on the spot. Ya-Bon was watching on his bench, in the dark. He must have seen them cross the embankment and no doubt recognized Siméon’s walk in the distance. We’ll take it that he gave chase at once, jumped on to the deck of the barge and arrived here at the same time as the enemy, before they had time to lock themselves in. Four people in this narrow space, in pitch darkness, must have meant a frightful upheaval. I know my Ya-Bon. He’s terrible at such times. Unfortunately, it was not Siméon whom he caught by the neck with that merciless hand of his, but . . . the woman. Siméon took advantage of this. He had not let go of Little Mother Coralie. He picked her up in his arms and went up the companionway, flung her on the deck and then came back to lock the door on the two as they struggled.”
“Do you think so? Do you think it was Ya-Bon and not Siméon who killed the woman?”
“I’m sure of it. If there were no other proof, there is this particular fracture of the wind-pipe, which is Ya-Bon’s special mark. What I do not understand is why, when he had settled his adversary, Ya-Bon didn’t break down the door with a push of his shoulder and go after Siméon. I presume that he was wounded and that he had not the strength to make the necessary effort. I presume also that the woman did not die at once and that she spoke, saying things against Siméon, who had abandoned her instead of defending her. This much is certain, that Ya-Bon broke the window-panes . . .”
“To jump into the Seine, wounded as he was, with his one arm?” said Patrice.
“Not at all. There’s a ledge running along the window. He could set his feet on it and get off that way.”
“Very well. But he was quite ten or twenty minutes behind Siméon?”
“That didn’t matter, if the woman had time, before dying, to tell him where Siméon was taking refuge.”
“How can we get to know?”