"And then," insisted M. Desmalions, "there is one more fact that strikes me as odd. Hippolyte Fauville does not once mention the Mornington inheritance in his confession. Why? Did he not know of it? Are we to suppose that there is no connection, beyond a mere casual coincidence, between the series of crimes and that bequest?"
"There, I am entirely of your opinion, Monsieur le Préfet. Hippolyte
Fauville's silence as to that bequest perplexes me a little, I confess.
But all the same I look upon it as comparatively unimportant. The main
thing is Fauville's guilt and the prisoners' innocence."
Don Luis's delight was pure and unbounded. From his point of view, the sinister tragedy was at an end with the discovery of the confession written by Hippolyte Fauville. Anything not explained in those lines would be explained by the details to be supplied by Mme. Fauville, Florence Levasseur, and Gaston Sauverand. He himself had lost all interest in the matter.
The car drew up at Saint-Lazare, the wretched, sordid old prison which is still waiting to be pulled down.
The Prefect jumped out. The door was opened at once.
"Is the prison governor there?" he asked. "Quick! send for him, it's urgent."
Then, unable to wait, he at once hastened toward the corridors leading to the infirmary and, as he reached the first-floor landing, came up against the governor himself.
"Mme. Fauville," he said, without waste of time. "I want to see her—"
But he stopped short when he saw the expression of consternation on the prison governor's face.
"Well, what is it?" he asked. "What's the matter?"