"He has," answered Ernest. "On that fatal night when poor Thorne entered the Rooms to change the notes I met him, and although we had had a few high words in the Café de Paris on the previous day, he approached me, asking my pardon, which I readily gave. He then inquired whether it was really true that Miss Rosselli had been engaged to me. I replied in the affirmative, and he then said that he did not intend to meet her again, but should leave for Paris in the morning. I tried to dissuade him, but his only reply was: 'She loves you still, my dear fellow. She can never forget you; of that I'm certain.' Then he left, and travelled to Nice without saying a single word to her. Arrived at the hotel, he went straight to her sitting-room and sat down to write her a letter of farewell. He commenced one, but destroyed it. This was afterwards found in the room. Then, just as he was about to commence a second letter, you—you, Julie Fournereau, entered, killed him, and stole the notes which you knew he carried in his pockets!"
"How did I kill him?" she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger.
"You yourself know that best."
"Ah! And Jean Laumont told you this elaborate piece of fiction, did he? It is amusing—very amusing!"
At a word from the chief detective, one of the officers left the room. We heard Laumont's name shouted loudly in the corridor, and a few minutes later he was ushered in by two officers.
I stood rooted to the spot at sight of him. The man was none other than Branca, the queer old fellow who had represented to me in Leghorn that our interests were identical. I saw how ingenious had been his actions, and how deeply-laid his plot. He had intended that I should sail to the Adriatic after he had obtained from me all the information I had collected.
On seeing us, he drew back in quick surprise, but in an instant the woman flew at him in fury.
"You have told them!" she shrieked. "You have led them to believe that I murdered the Englishman at Nice; you have declared that it was I who gave you the notes; I who killed him! You white-livered cur!"
His ugly countenance fell. Indignation had, in an instant, given place to fear. His sinister face was full of evil.
"And did you not give me the notes?" inquired the dwarfed man, now well dressed, and presenting a very different appearance from that he had shown at Leghorn. He had evidently been playing baccarat. "Why, there are at least two men in yonder room who were present when you handed them to me."