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He could have his meals brought in from outside and obtain from the library such books as there were. How he longed for a talk with Juve; but that detective was rigorously excluded from the prison. Juve was to be a witness at the trial. As Fandor was to conduct his own case there were no consultations with his counsel to relieve the monotony of the days; nor were newspapers allowed him.
Too often, in those wakeful hours when he reviewed his life, following the course of it in a kind of mental cinematograph, did Fandor think of Elizabeth Dollon.
And yet he's turned over everything I left in that drawer! He's not so clever as Juve, although he isn't a fool.... After all, I don't care, I've got them both where I want them." Jerome Fandor shouted an address to his driver: "Rue Bonaparte, and if you hurry there's a good tip waiting for you."
An examination of the patient showed that he had received no serious injury, merely some abrasions and one or two burns. As Juve and the Doctor answered his call for food, Fandor sat up and without surprise or question repeated his cry: "I'm dying of hunger. Hurry up and give me something to eat." The Doctor took his pulse, then suggested: "Something light won't hurt him, say, a slice of ham."
His presence in the apartment of the murdered Susy d'Orsel had created an ambiguous and disagreeable situation. Again, was the personnel of the hotel really duped by the substitution? The situation was becoming more and more difficult for Fandor. He realized that he was being watched.
The journalist considered him an instant, then asked: "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" This question appeared to tear the soldier from a kind of dream. He jumped, then mechanically stood at attention, as if before a superior officer. "I am Corporal Vinson." Fandor nodded, tried to remember him, but in vain. The name told him nothing....
"I thought I heard a noise," continued Susy, but the King made her sit down again beside him and the supper went on. As she drank glass after glass of wine, she became more and more amiable toward Fandor. And since the King paid little attention to her caresses, she began a flirtation with the journalist in order to pique him.
At this moment, he suddenly caught sight of the crumpled letter pinned to his counterpane; opening it, he read the lines that Fandor had hurriedly pencilled the night before. In spite of his exhaustion and stiffness, he sprang out of bed and was about to ring for a servant when a feeling of caution came over him. It would be better first to take stock of the situation. What had happened?
An affable Normandy girl laid their table in a small room: a profusion of black cocks with scarlet combs decorated the paper on its walls. The effect was at once bewildering and weirdly funereal. Meanwhile the abbé walked up and down in the courtyard; to judge by his expression he was in no pleasant frame of mind. When he came to table, Fandor noticed that he forgot to pronounce the Benedicite.
"I should just like to know how!" He was about to speak: the abbé cut in: "I am very tired, Corporal, so excuse me if I doze a little! In an hour or so, I shall be quite refreshed. There will be ample time for a talk after that." Fandor could but agree. The car was speeding up the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. They were leaving Paris for what destination?
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