“With an implement, knife or penknife, we do not yet know which.”
“Whereabouts is the wound?”
“In the arm.”
“Why, the man’s a demon, nothing less!”
The Governor had no knowledge of the events that had occurred the night before at the grand duchess’s, so he was quite at a loss as to the meaning of M. Havard’s exclamation. In amazement he watched the latter as he strode up and down the length of the great room, lost apparently in the deepest thought. But his amazement grew to stupefaction when M. Havard went on to say:
“What, can a prisoner contrive to leave your prison of an evening and return again before daylight?”
The question was, indeed, of a sort to rouse M. Chaigniste’s indignation. He, the model administrator, he who since first he came to the Santé had never had an “affair”; he, who was so proud of his staff that he looked upon himself as the father of his subordinates; he, who, only yesterday, had written a masterly report declaring in good set terms that everything was for the best in this best of all possible prisons; he was suspected of having allowed prisoners the possibility of taking their walks abroad in the night! “His” prison, it seemed, was a hotel which people might quit at will, to go about their private affairs and come back again when they had enjoyed their liberty long enough!
He was on the point of returning M. Havard a cutting and dignified answer when the latter, guessing his thoughts, broke in:
“Monsieur Chaigniste, I feel convinced all duties are performed to perfection in your establishment. But still, answer me this question: Does Juve’s cell contain any implement capable of making the wound you have noted?”
The Governor was nonplussed; shaking his head emphatically, he declared: