“I am not of your opinion, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. As long as no innocent person was accused of the crime, I was absolutely entitled to refrain from accusing the man who was at the same time the culprit and the victim. He is dead. I consider death a sufficient punishment.”
“But now, Monsieur le Comte, now that the truth is known, you can speak.”
“Yes. Here are two rough drafts of letters written by him to his accomplices. I took them from his pocket-book, a few minutes after his death.”
“And the motive of his theft?”
“Go to 18, Rue de la Barre, at Dieppe, which is the address of a certain Mme. Verdier. It was for this woman, whom he got to know two years ago, and to supply her constant need of money that Daval turned thief.”
So everything was cleared up. The tragedy rose out of the darkness and gradually appeared in its true light.
“Let us go on,” said M. Filluel after the count had withdrawn.
“Upon my word,” said Beautrelet, gaily, “I have said almost all that I had to say.”
“But the runaway, the wounded man?”
“As to that, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, you know as much as I do. You have followed his tracks in the grass by the cloisters—you have—”