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Updated: June 9, 2025
M. Desmalions, after a whispered colloquy with the examining magistrate, resumed his questions in these terms: "Yesterday evening, when M. Fauville opened his safe in your presence and the sergeant's, what was in the safe?" "A heap of papers, on one of the shelves; and, among those papers, the diary in drab cloth which has since disappeared." "You did not touch those papers?"
M. Desmalions arrived and, while watching the prisoner's face, talked in a low voice with the deputy chief and received the particulars of the arrest. "This is good business," he said. "We wanted this. Now that both accomplices are in custody, they will have to speak; and everything will be cleared up. So there was no resistance?" "None at all, Monsieur le Préfet."
She took one of the three apples which Desmalions handed her from the dish and lifted it to her mouth. It was a decisive act. If the two marks resembled each other, the proof existed, assured and undeniable. Before completing her movement, she stopped short, as though seized with a sudden fear.... Fear of what? Fear of the monstrous chance that might be her undoing?
"One only, Monsieur le Préfet: ask Mme. Fauville if she knows any one, apart from her husband, who is descended from the sisters Roussel." "Why that question?" "Because, if that descendant exists, it is not I who will inherit the millions, but he; and then it will be he and not I who would be interested in the removal of M. Fauville and his son." "Of course, of course," muttered M. Desmalions.
This was how, during that last night, he placed this sealed envelope in position, after writing on it the date of the murder, '31 March, 11 P.M., and his signature, 'Hippolyte Fauville." M. Desmalions opened the envelope with an eager hand. His first glance at the pages of writing which it contained made him give a start. "Oh, the villain, the villain!" he said.
Mazeroux made the sign of the cross. The inspectors were as pale as death. M. Desmalions looked at Don Luis, who nodded his head without a word. They inspected the condition of the locks and bolts. Nothing had moved. That day again, the contents of the letter made some amends for the really extraordinary manner of its delivery.
The letter must have been written in a feverish moment: there is no date nor address.... The writing is shaky " And M. Desmalions read out: "MONSIEUR LE PRÉFET: "A great danger is hanging over my head and over the head of my son. Death is approaching apace. I shall have to-night, or to-morrow morning at the latest, the proofs of the abominable plot that threatens us.
"Sergeant Mazeroux, please tell Silvestre, the manservant, that Monsieur le Préfet wishes to see him." Upon a sign from M. Desmalions, Mazeroux went out. Don Luis explained his motive. "Monsieur le Préfet, whereas the discovery of the turquoise constitutes in your eyes an extremely serious proof against me, to me it is a revelation of the highest importance. I will tell you why.
This is horrible; I feel that you do not believe me and I have no strength left. Go away, every one of you!" He said a few more words which M. Desmalions could not make out. Then the voice ceased; and, though the Prefect still heard cries, it seemed to him that those cries were distant, as though the instrument were no longer within the reach of the mouth that uttered them.
"Monte Cristo, this time," said M. Desmalions. "The mysterious Monte Cristo." "Monte Cristo, if you like, Monsieur le Préfet. In point of fact, the mystery of my captivity and escape is a rather strange one. It may be interesting to throw some light upon it one of these days. Meanwhile, I must ask for a little credit." A silence ensued.
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