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Updated: June 20, 2025
"How, sir," observed the magistrate when the young man ceased speaking, "could you have told me that, in your opinion, no one was interested in Widow Lerouge's death?" The advocate made no reply. "It seems to me," continued M. Daburon, "that the Viscount de Commarin's position has thereby become almost impregnable. Madame Gerdy is insane; the count will deny all; your letters prove nothing.
"Oh!" he said in a loud voice, as though encouraging himself, "at the Palais, all will be unravelled." M. Daburon had been surprised at Claire's visit. M. de Commarin was still more so, when his valet whispered to him that Mademoiselle d'Arlange desired a moment's conversation with him.
She, however, laughed until the tears came into her eyes, then shrugging her shoulders, she said: "Really, dear Daburon is too ridiculous, he will make me die of laughing! He is so amusing!" After which she burst out laughing again. But suddenly she stopped, in the very height of her merriment, and assumed her most dignified air.
But who amongst the whole lot of them could have, by the sole exercise of observation and reason, established the whole history of the assassination? Certainly not Gevrol, poor man! Won't he feel vexed and humiliated, being altogether out of it. Shall I seek M. Daburon? No, not yet. The night is necessary to me to sift to the bottom all the particulars, and arrange my ideas systematically.
Do they not correspond? Are they not of the same colour, the same skin?" It was useless to deny it, equivocate, or seek subterfuges. The evidence was there, and it was irrefutable. While appearing to occupy himself solely with the objects lying upon his table, M. Daburon did not lose sight of the prisoner. Albert was terrified.
It's impossible! I am as sure of my system as of a sum that has been proved. The assassin has an alibi. Albert has pleaded none; then he is innocent." M. Daburon surveyed the detective pityingly, much as he would have looked at a remarkable monomaniac. When the old fellow had finished, "My worthy M. Tabaret," the magistrate said to him: "you have but one fault.
"Do I repent of it! That is to say he deserved to be poisoned by the bread I gave him." M. Daburon was unable to repress a gesture of surprise, which did not escape the old fellow's notice. "Hear, before you condemn me," he continued. "There was I at twenty-five, imposing upon myself the severest privations for the sake of my father, no more friends, no more flirtations, nothing.
He asked for a moment, and, turning towards the little table, he filled and drank two large glassfuls of water in succession. "I am ready!" he then said. And, with a firm step, he followed the gendarmes along the passage which led to the Palais de Justice. M. Daburon was just then in great anguish. He walked furiously up and down his office, awaiting the prisoner.
Sometimes he divines correctly; very often, though, he makes a mistake. Take, for instance, the case of the tailor, the unfortunate Dereme, without me " "I thank you for your advice," interrupted M. Daburon, "and will profit by it. Now commissary," he continued, "it is most important to ascertain from what part of the country Widow Lerouge came."
There we spoke to each other; there we meet each other now." "Ah!" exclaimed M. Daburon, whose eyes were suddenly opened, "I remember now. A few days before your visit to Mademoiselle Goello, you are gayer than usual; and, when you return, you are often sad." "That is because I see how much he is pained by the obstacles he cannot overcome."
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