eeble traces that they escape
Gevrol's practised eye, and you think he would risk his safety by
leaving an entire night unaccounted for? 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. You err through an excess of subtlety, you accord too
freely to others the wonderful sagacity with which you yourself are
endowed. Our man has failed in prudence, simply because he believed his
rank would place him above suspicion."

"No, sir, no, a thousand times no. My culprit,--the true one,--he whom
we have missed catching, feared everything. Besides, does Albert defend
himself? No. He is overwhelmed because he perceives coincidences so
fatal that they appear to condemn him, without a chance of escape. Does
he try to excuse himself? No. He simply replies, 'It is terrible.' And
yet all through his examination I feel reticence that I cannot explain."

"I can explain it very easily; and I am as confident as though he had
confessed everything. I have more than sufficient proofs for that."

"Ah, sir, proofs! There are always enough of those against an arrested
man. They existed against every innocent man who was ever condemned.
Proofs! Why, I had them in quantities against Kaiser, the poor little
tailor, who--"

"Well," interrupted the magistrate, hastily, "if it is not he, the most
interested one, who committed the crime, who then is it? His father, the
Count de Commarin?"

"No: the true assassin is a young man."

M. Daburon had arranged his papers, and finished his preparations. He
took up his hat, and, as he prepared to leave, replied: "You must then
see that I am right. Come and see me by-and-by, M. Tabaret, and make
haste and get rid of all your foolish ideas. To-morrow we will talk the
whole matter over again. I am rather tired to-night." Then he added,
addressing his clerk, "Constant, look in at the record office, in case
the prisoner Commarin should wish to speak to me."

He moved towards the door; but M. Tabaret barred his exit.

"Sir," said the old man, "in the name of heaven listen to me! He is
innocent, I swear to you. Help me, then, to find the real culprit. Sir,
think of your remorse should you cause a