wore on Tuesday. They, too, are lavender, and they are frayed. Compare
these pieces of kid with your own gloves. 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. A cold perspiration bathed
his temples, and glided drop by drop down his cheeks. His hands trembled
so much that they were of no use to him. In a chilling voice he kept
repeating: "It is horrible, horrible!"

"Finally," pursued the inexorable magistrate, "here are the trousers you
wore on the evening of the murder. It is plain that not long ago they
were very wet; and, besides the mud on them, there are traces of earth.
Besides that they are torn at the knees. We will admit, for the moment
that you might not remember where you went on that evening; but who
would believe that you do not know when you tore your trousers and how
you frayed your gloves?"

What courage could resist such assaults? Albert's firmness and energy
were at an end. His brain whirled. He fell heavily into a chair,
exclaiming,--"It is enough to drive me mad!"

"Do you admit," insisted the magistrate, whose gaze had become firmly
fixed upon the prisoner, "do you admit that Widow Lerouge could only
have been stabbed by you?"

"I admit," protested Albert, "that I am the victim of one of those
terrible fatalities which make men doubt the evidence of their reason. I
am innocent."

"Then tell me where you passed Tuesday evening."

"Ah, sir!" cried the prisoner, "I should have to--" But, restraining
himself, he added in a faint voice, "I have made the only answer that I
can make."

M. Daburon rose, having now reached his grand stroke.

"It is, then, my duty," said he, with a shade of irony, "to supply your
failure of memory. I am going to remind you of where you went and what
you did. On Tuesday evening at eight o'clock, after having obtained from
the wine you drank, the dreadful energy you needed, you left your home.
At thirty-five minutes past eight, you took the train at the St. Lazare
station. At nine o'clock, you alighted at the station at Rueil."

And, not disdaining to employ Tabaret's ideas, the investigating
magistrate repeated nearly word for word the tirade improvised the night
before by the amateur