man's mad," it seemed to say. "It's no use being angry with him."
When Rénine had finished, he began to laugh:
"Very funny!… A capital joke!… So it was I whom the neighbours saw going and returning on the motor-cycle?"
"It was you disguised in Jacques Aubrieux's clothes."
"And it was my finger-prints that were found on the bottle in M. Guillaume's pantry?"
"The bottle had been opened by Jacques Aubrieux at lunch, in his own house, and it was you who took it with you to serve as evidence."
"Funnier and funnier!" cried Dutreuil, who had the air of being frankly amused. "Then I contrived the whole affair so that Jacques Aubrieux might be accused of the crime?"
"It was the safest means of not being accused yourself."
"Yes, but Jacques is a friend whom I have known from childhood."
"You're in love with his wife."
The young man gave a sudden, infuriated start:
"You dare!… What! You dare make such an infamous suggestion?"
"I have proof of it."
"That's a lie! I have always respected Madeleine Aubrieux and revered her...."
"Apparently. But you're in love with her. You desire her. Don't contradict me. I have abundant proof of it."
"That's a lie, I tell you! You have only known me a few hours!"
"Come, come! I've been quietly watching you for days, waiting for the moment to pounce upon you."
He took the young man by the shoulders and shook him:
"Come, Dutreuil, confess! I hold all the proofs in my hand. I have witnesses whom we shall meet presently at the criminal investigation department. Confess, can't you? In spite of everything, you're tortured by remorse. Remember your dismay, at the restaurant, when you had seen the newspaper. What? Jacques Aubrieux condemned to die? That's more than you bargained for! Penal servitude would have suited your book; but the scaffold!… Jacques Aubrieux executed to-morrow, an innocent man!… Confess, won't you? Confess to save your own skin! Own up!"
Bending over the other, he was trying with all his might to extort a confession from him. But Dutreuil drew himself up and coldly, with a sort of scorn in his voice, said:
"Sir, you are a madman. Not a word that you have said has any sense in it. All your accusations are false. What about the bank-notes? Did you find them at my place as you said you would?"
Rénine, exasperated, clenched his fist in his face:
"Oh, you swine, I'll dish you yet, I swear I will!"
He drew the inspector aside:
"Well, what do you say to it? An arrant rogue, isn't he?"
The inspector nodded his head:
"It may be.... But, all the same … so far there's no real evidence."
"Wait, M. Morisseau," said Rénine. "Wait until we've had our interview with M. Dudouis. For we shall see M. Dudouis at the prefecture, shall we not?"
"Yes, he'll be there at three o'clock."
"Well, you'll be convinced, Mr. Inspector! I tell you here and now that you will be convinced."
Rénine was chuckling like a man who feels certain of the course of events. Hortense, who was standing near him and was able to speak to him without being heard by the others, asked, in a low voice:
"You've got him, haven't you?"
He nodded his head in assent:
"Got him? I should think I have! All the same, I'm no farther forward than I was at the beginning."
"But this is awful! And your proofs?"
"Not the shadow of a proof … I was hoping to trip him up. But he's kept his feet, the rascal!"
"Still, you're certain it's he?"
"It can't be any one else. I had an intuition at the very outset; and I've not taken my eyes off him since. I have seen his anxiety increasing as my investigations seemed to centre on him and concern him more closely. Now I know."
"And he's in love with Madame Aubrieux?"
"In logic, he's bound to be. But so far we have only hypothetical suppositions, or rather certainties which are personal to myself. We shall never intercept the guillotine with those. Ah, if we could only find the bank-notes! Given the bank-notes, M. Dudouis would act. Without them, he will laugh in my face."
"What then?" murmured Hortense, in anguished accents.
He did not reply. He walked up and down the room, assuming an air of gaiety and rubbing his hands. All was going so well! It was really a treat to take up a case which, so to speak, worked itself out automatically.
"Suppose we went on to the prefecture, M. Morisseau? The chief must be there by now. And, having gone so far, we may as well finish. Will M. Dutreuil come with us?"
"Why not?" said Dutreuil, arrogantly.
But, just as Rénine was opening the door, there was a noise in the passage and the manager ran up, waving his arms:
"Is M. Dutreuil still here?… M. Dutreuil, your flat is on fire!… A man outside told us. He saw it from the square."
The young man's eyes lit up. For perhaps half a second his mouth was twisted by a smile which Rénine noticed:
"Oh, you ruffian!" he cried. "You've given yourself away, my beauty! It was you who set fire to the place upstairs; and now the notes are burning."
He blocked his exit.
"Let me pass," shouted Dutreuil. "There's a fire and no one can get in, because no one else has a key. Here it is. Let me pass, damn it!"
Rénine snatched the key from his hand and, holding him by the collar of his coat:
"Don't you move, my fine fellow! The game's up! You precious blackguard! M. Morisseau, will you give orders to the sergeant not to let him out of his sight and to blow out his brains if he tries to get away? Sergeant, we rely on you! Put a bullet into him, if necessary!…"
He hurried up the stairs, followed by Hortense and the chief inspector, who was protesting rather peevishly:
"But, I say, look here, it wasn't he who set the place on fire! How do you make out that he set it on fire, seeing that he never left us?"
"Why, he set it on fire beforehand, to be sure!"
"How? I ask you, how?"
"How do I know? But a fire doesn't break out like that, for no reason at all, at the very moment when a man wants to burn compromising papers."
They heard a commotion upstairs. It was the waiters of the restaurant trying to burst the door open. An acrid smell filled the well of the stair-case.
Rénine
