that I had to wait on a bench where I had prison vermin
crawling up my legs, while I listened to a lot of thieves, pickpockets
and girls in Saint-Lazare caps, talking and laughing with Gardes de
Paris, and the ringing of the muskets on the floor of the corridors, and
the dull rumbling of prison vans. I realized then the danger of
_combinazioni_, and that it was not always well to laugh at M. Gogo.

One thing comforted me somewhat, however, and that was that, as I had
never taken part in the deliberations of the _Territoriale_, I was in no
way responsible for its transactions and swindles. But explain this.
When I was in the magistrate's office, facing that man in a velvet cap
who stared at me from the other side of the table with his little
crooked eyes, I had such a feeling that I was being explored and
searched and turned absolutely inside out that, in spite of my
innocence, I longed to confess. To confess what? I have no idea. But
that is the effect that justice produces. That devil of a man sat for
five long minutes staring at me without speaking, turning over a package
of papers covered with a coarse handwriting that seemed familiar to me,
then said to me abruptly, in a tone that was at once cunning and stern:

"Well, Monsieur Passajon! How long is it since we played the drayman's
trick?"

The memory of a certain little peccadillo, in which I had taken part in
days of distress, was so distant that at first I did not understand; but
a few words from the magistrate proved to me that he was thoroughly
posted as to the history of our bank. That terrible man knew everything,
to the most trivial, the most secret details.

Who could have given him such accurate information?

And with it all he was very sharp, very abrupt, and when I attempted to
guide the course of justice by some judicious observations, he had a
certain insolent way of saying: "None of your fine phrases," which was
the more wounding to me, at my age, with my reputation as a fine
speaker, because we were not alone in his office. A clerk sat near me,
writing down my deposition, and I could hear some one behind turning
over the leaves of some great book. The magistrate asked me all sorts of
questions about the Nabob, the time when he had made his contributions,
where we kept our books, and all at once, addressing the person whom I
did not see, he said:

"Show us the cash-book, Monsieur l'Expert."

A little man in a white cravat brought the great vol