“Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth,” returned the Doctor, throwing out his bust.
“He has never told a lie,” added madame. “He is the best of boys.”
“Never told a lie, has he not?” reflected Casimir. “Strange, very strange. Give me your attention, my young friend,” he continued. “You knew about this treasure?”
“He helped to bring it home,” interposed the Doctor.
“Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue,” returned Casimir. “I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you are so certain of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer for himself. Now, sir,” he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight at Jean-Marie. “You knew it could be stolen with impunity? You knew you could not be prosecuted? Come! Did you, or did you not?”
“I did,” answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers hysterically, swallowing air, the picture of guilt.
“You knew where it was put?” resumed the inquisitor.
“Yes,” from Jean-Marie.
“You say you have been a thief before,” continued Casimir. “Now how am I to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could climb the green gate?”
“Yes,” still lower, from the culprit.