never so hated Albert,--that wretch, who, stained with
a crime, stood in the way of his happiness. Then too he cursed old
Tabaret! Alone, he would not have decided so quickly. He would have
waited, thought over the matter, matured his decision, and certainly
have perceived the inconveniences, which now occurred to him. The old
fellow, always carried away like a badly trained bloodhound, and full
of stupid enthusiasm, had confused him, and led him to do what he now so
much regretted.

It was precisely this unfavorable moment that M. Tabaret chose for
reappearing before the magistrate. He had just been informed of the
termination of the inquiry; and he arrived, impatient to know what had
passed, swelling with curiosity, and full of the sweet hope of hearing
of the fulfilment of his predictions.

"What answers did he make?" he asked even before he had closed the door.

"He is evidently guilty," replied the magistrate, with a harshness very
different to his usual manner.

Old Tabaret, who expected to receive praises by the basketful, was
astounded at this tone! It was therefore, with great hesitancy that he
offered his further services.

"I have come," he said modestly, "to know if any investigations are
necessary to demolish the _alibi_ pleaded by the prisoner."

"He pleaded no _alibi_," replied the magistrate, dryly.

"How," cried the detective, "no _alibi_? Pshaw! I ask pardon: he has of
course then confessed everything."

"No," said the magistrate impatiently, "he has confessed nothing. He
acknowledges that the proofs are decisive: he cannot give an account of
how he spent his time; but he protests his innocence."

In the centre of the room, M. Tabaret stood with his mouth wide open,
and his eyes staring wildly, and altogether in the most grotesque
attitude his astonishment could effect. He was literally thunderstruck.
In spite of his anger, M. Daburon could not help smiling; and even
Constant gave a grin, which on his lips was equivalent to a paroxysm of
laughter.

"Not an _alibi_, nothing?" murmured the old fellow. "No explanations?
The idea! It is inconceivable! Not an _alibi_? We must then be mistaken:
he cannot be the criminal. That is certain!"

The investigating magistrate felt that the old amateur must have been
waiting the result of the examination at the wine shop round the corner,
or else that he had gone mad.

"Unfortunately," said he, "we are not mistaken. It is but too clearly
shown that M.