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Updated: June 23, 2025
M. Plantat insisted on examining the wound, and was not satisfied until the doctor declared it to be a very slight one. "Come, Master Robelot," said the old man, "what were you doing here?" The bone-setter did not reply. "Take care," insisted M. Plantat, "your silence will confirm us in the idea that you came with the worst designs."
A sudden reflection occurred to M. Plantat; the expression of his eye changed. He winked at M. Lecoq to call his attention, and addressing the bone-setter in a milder tone, said: "Come here, Master Robelot." Lecoq had read the man at a glance. Robelot was a small, insignificant-looking man, but really of herculean strength. His hair, cut short behind, fell over his large, intelligent forehead.
Then you've also bought something in the way of mines, at auction, haven't you?" "Just a bunch of nothing at all." "True, but it pays well. It isn't so bad, you see, to be a doctor without a diploma." Robelot had been several times prosecuted for illegal practicing; so he thought he ought to protest against this. "If I cure people," said he, "I'm not paid for it."
The doctor and his host hastened to the lamp; their zeal caused a delay, and at the moment that the doctor raised the lamp, the door was rudely pushed open. "I beg to present to you," said M. Lecoq, "Master Robelot, bone-setter of Orcival, herborist by prudence, and poisoner by vocation." The stupefaction of the others was such that neither could speak.
A little way off, with his slight figure and his beardless face, he looked like a Paris gamin one of those little wretches who are the essence of all corruption, whose imagination is more soiled than the gutters where they search for lost pennies. Robelot advanced several steps, smiling and bowing. "Perhaps," said he, "Monsieur has, by chance, need of me?"
I suspected this crime the first thing this morning, and have seen it all the way through; and the man that we have just shut up in there Robelot who wanted to murder Monsieur Plantat, was either the agent or the accomplice of this crime."
M. Plantat, on the contrary, seemed tolerably well satisfied, as if the death of Robelot furthered projects which he was secretly nourishing, and fulfilled his secret hopes. Besides, it little mattered if the object was to oppose M. Domini's theories and induce him to change his opinion. This corpse had more eloquence in it than the most explicit of confessions.
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