"The name of that man was Fort."
Leblanc turned the pages of his note-book more quickly." Dumont—Court—ah, here it is, 'Jean Didier, glazier, with insurgents; pointed out as Communist by one Fort; executed on spot.' Is that correct?"
"He was innocent," said Marie, nervously twisting her fingers.
"But am I to understand that you deny his identity?" said the officer, turning sharply on Plon. "Speak up, man!"
M. Plon looked round, bewildered. "How could he have got into the house?"
"Never mind that. What we want is 'yes' or 'no' Is it Jean Didier? Come close and see for yourself."
"It is like him," said the landlord, examining him from head to foot, "certainly it is like him; I could almost believe it was he, only—how could he have got into the house?"
"As to that—where there's a woman—" said Leblanc, turning away. They were all watching him, except Périne, who was sobbing stormily on the wooden stool, and he said shortly, "There is something more in my note-book."
"More!" repeated Jean with alarm.
"Would you rather not have it?"