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He did not like this pertinacity, and looked at his colleagues as though he sought their concurrence in altering the arrangements for the Italian's mission. It might be wiser to detain him still. "It was only to save trouble that I made the suggestion," hastily put in Ripaldi. "Naturally I am in your hands.
"Did he speak to any other passenger?" "Very little. To the Countess. Yes, once or twice, I think, to her maid." "Ah! that maid. Did you notice her at all? She has not been seen. It is strange. She seems to have disappeared." "To have run away, in fact?" suggested Ripaldi, with a queer smile. "Well, at least she is not here with her mistress. Can you offer any explanation of that?"
"No observations. I too can recognize you now as the person who called himself Ripaldi an hour or two ago. Denial is useless. Let him be searched; thoroughly, you understand, La Pêche? Call in your other men; he may resist."
"Surely you can see what follows what this leads us to?" said Sir Charles, rather disdainfully. "I have formed an opinion yes, but I should like to see if it coincides with yours. You think " "I know," corrected the General. "I know that, as two persons wrote in that book, either it is not Ripaldi's book, or the last of them was not Ripaldi.
"Pray telegraph at once, if you think fit, to Rome, to the police authorities, and you will find that Natale Ripaldi your humble servant travelled by the through express with their knowledge and authority. And here are my credentials, my official card, some official letters " "And what, in a word, have you to tell us?" "I can tell you who the murdered man was." "We know that already."
It will be seen that there were things written that looked very damaging to his dear friend, Sabine Castagneto. Ripaldi's diary its ownership plainly shown by the record of his name in full, Natale Ripaldi, inside the cover was a commonplace note-book bound in shabby drab cloth, its edges and corners strengthened with some sort of white metal.
I saw the last writer at his work, saw him with my own eyes. Yet he did not write with Ripaldi's hand this is incontestable, I am sure of it, I will swear it ergo, he is not Ripaldi." "But you should have known this at the time," interjected M. Floçon, fiercely. "Why did you not discover the change of identity? You should have seen that this was not Ripaldi." "Pardon me. I did not know the man.
"What matter if he is not Ripaldi? Directly the inquiry was over, he could steal away and resume his own personality that of a man supposed to be dead, and therefore safe from all interference and future pursuit." "You mean Upon my word, I compliment you, M. le Général.
A posse of police went to arrest Ripaldi; the Countess returned to the Hotel Madagascar; and the Judge's party started for the Morgue, only a short journey, where they were presently received with every mark of respect and consideration. The keeper, or officer in charge, was summoned, and came out bareheaded to the fiacre, bowing low before his distinguished visitors.
"Yes. The man who calls himself Ripaldi is to be found or, at least, you would have found him an hour or so ago at the Hotel Ivoire, Rue Bellechasse. But time has been lost, I fear." "Nevertheless, we will send there." "The woman Hortense was also with him when last I heard of them." "How do you know?" began the detective, suspiciously. "Psha!" interrupted the Judge; "that will keep.
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