"But the doctor?" queried Landri.
"Monsieur le Docteur Chaffin?" said the maître-d'hôtel. "Of course. But I can't believe it of him," he added, after a few seconds' reflection. "Now, if it was his father—"
"His father?" Landri repeated. "Come, tell me your whole thought."
"I haven't any thought," replied Joseph, "except that I know that monsieur was very suspicious of him."
"And he didn't come here during his illness?"
"Yes, I remember now—on Saturday. But he didn't see monsieur, for I was with him. He sent for me to get late news to carry to Monsieur le Marquis."
Thus Chaffin's image was associated once more in Landri's mind with the mysterious scenes that must have been enacted about that bed of death. Chaffin had wandered around that death-chamber during the last hours. Chaffin had been in the apartment. Once, the servant said. What did he know about it? Notwithstanding that he had lavished the most assiduous attentions on the sick man, he must have been absent at times. It might be that Chaffin, advised of his absence, had seized the opportunity, had entered the sick-room with the doctor's connivance. If at that moment the invalid was asleep, morphine assisting, the theft of the letters was explained.
The young man had not left Joseph ten minutes before this explanation had taken shape in his mind. It rested upon a series of almost fantastic hypotheses: that Chaffin knew of the existence of Madame de Claviers' letters; that he knew where Jaubourg kept them locked up; that Pierre Chaffin was in connivance with his father; that the strong-box had not a combination lock. But nothing appeared fantastic to Landri since the terrible scene during which he had learned the secret of his birth. When everything of which we were certain, which was, as it were, a part of us,—loving regard for a mother's memory, respectful affection for a father, family pride, assurance of social rank,—has crumbled at one stroke, nothing surprises us. The most extraordinary events seem simple to us.
Not one of these difficulties deterred Landri. The one thing that he did not understand was Chaffin's interest in the theft and in the denunciation that followed it. From the moment that he knew that his former tutor was capable of malversation in managing the property of such a man as the marquis, he adjudged him a scoundrel and capable of the worst crimes. He remembered the step he had undertaken at the time of his last visit to Grandchamp, and he interpreted it as being in pursuance of one of his detestable schemes: to precipitate a disaster under cover of which his peculations would pass unnoticed. All this was true, but it came in collision with the further "definite fact," that the denunciatory letter, according to M. de Claviers' own testimony, was sent some time before the dishonest manager was dismissed. So that Chaffin could not have been guided, in sending it, by a desire for revenge. But a man does not act without a motive, especially when the inevitable consequence of his action is the ruin of two lives. At that time Chaffin had no motive for committing that useless and barbarous villainy. No. He must seek elsewhere.
"No motive?" the young man asked himself a few days later. He had exhausted himself in hypotheses and efforts, each more unavailing than the last, even to the point of taking the trouble to interview personally all the people who had been in Jaubourg's service under Joseph, and he returned to the hypothesis to which, in spite of all the objections to it, an unconquerable instinct guided him. "But I know absolutely nothing about that man, whom I thought I knew so well, and in whom I was so deceived. I don't even know why he was dismissed. From whom can I find out? Why, from Métivier, of course. Besides, I shall need him in connection with my marriage."