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Updated: June 24, 2025
"But because I lost a button at Monsieur Caffie's, it does not follow that it was torn off in a struggle." "You have your theory, and you will make the most of it, but this is not the place. I have only one more question to ask: By what button have you replaced the one you lost?" "By the first one I came across." "Who sewed it on?" "I did."
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.
"And you did not return to him during the evening?" the judge asked. "Why should I return? I had obtained what I desired." "Well, did you or did you not return?" "I did not return to him." "Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie's house?"
"That is what I remember, and you will see that Monsieur Florentin has nothing to do with this affair. As I went upstairs at a quarter past five to light my gas, some one came behind me and rang Monsieur Caffie's bell, and rapped three or four times at equal distances, which is the signal to open the door."
In spite of the lukewarm sea in which it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of the tails of Caffie's coat, he placed it in the lock. Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question was poignant. The key turned and the door opened.
But Florentin, and above all, Phillis, reminded him that the comfort he enjoyed he owed to Caffie's death, and he was troubled accordingly. He did not believe that the investigations of the law would reach him now; everything conspired to confirm him in his scrutiny.
In spite of the lukewarm sea in which it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of the tails of Caffie's coat, he placed it in the lock. Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question was poignant. The key turned and the door opened.
While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room the glance of the police, which takes in everything. "The safe is open," he said. "The affair becomes clear; the assassination was followed by theft." There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner opened; it was that of Caffie's bedroom.
In spite of the lukewarm sea in which it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of the tails of Caffie's coat, he placed it in the lock. Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question was poignant. The key turned and the door opened.
Saniel was there to observe, without having decided what he should do. Instantly, with the decision that had "failed him so often during his vigil," he resolved to go to Caffie's. Was he not a doctor, and the physician of the dead-man? What could be more natural? "A money-lender!" he exclaimed. "Is it Monsieur Caffie?" "Exactly." "But I am his doctor." "A doctor!
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