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Updated: June 24, 2025
At last he heard a slow step within. "Who is there?" Caffie asked. As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. "As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, I do not always open the door," Caffie said. "But I have a signal for my clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the door." During this explanation they entered Caffie's office.
At last he heard a slow step within. "Who is there?" Caffie asked. As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. "As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, I do not always open the door," Caffie said. "But I have a signal for my clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the door." During this explanation they entered Caffie's office.
After Caffie's death this tranquil and refreshing sleep continued the same; but suddenly, after Madame Dammauville's death, it became broken. At first it did not bother him. He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more. But one can no more work all the time than one can live without eating.
She could not apply her mind to search for that which agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what she saw and heard. And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: Caffie's name irritated him; Madame Dammauville's angered him; Florentin's made him positively unhappy.
"Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this struggle. Caffie's position in his chair, where he was assaulted and where he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, if he had not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and, without doubt, he would have been heard."
"He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing one leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder, and found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie's to look for it, of course." "Of course." "How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would escape?
Caffie's wound was made by a hand skilled in killing, and this learned hand was his, more even than that of a murderer. Every one knew that his position at that moment was desperate, financially speaking; and, suddenly, he paid his debts. Who would believe the Monte Carlo story? One word, one little hint, from this Madame Dammauville and he was lost, without defence, without possible struggles.
On returning to his room Saniel was very much cast down, and without lighting a candle, he threw himself on the divan, where he remained prostrated. The frightful part of the affair was the rapidity with which he condemned this poor woman to death, and without hesitation executed her. To save himself she must die; she should die. This time the idea did not turn and deviate as in Caffie's case.
She could not apply her mind to search for that which agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what she saw and heard. And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: Caffie's name irritated him; Madame Dammauville's angered him; Florentin's made him positively unhappy.
That which he arranged so laboriously had succeeded according to his wish, and the only imprudence that he had committed, in a moment of aberration, seemed not to have been observed; no one had noticed his presence in the cafe opposite Caffie's house, and no one was astonished at his pertinacity in remaining there at an hour so unusual.
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