"Has he confessed?" asked M. Lecoq, stupefied.

The judge half turned toward the detective, as if he were displeased
that M. Lecoq should dare to question him.

"Guespin has not confessed," he answered, "but his case is none the
better for that. Our searchers have returned. They haven't yet
found the count's body, and I think it has been carried down by the
current. But they found at the end of the park, the count's other
slipper, among the roses; and under the bridge, in the middle of
the river, they discovered a thick vest which still bears the marks
of blood."

"And that vest is Guespin's?"

"Exactly so. It was recognized by all the domestics, and Guespin
himself did not hesitate to admit that it belonged to him. But that
is not all--"

M. Domini stopped as if to take breath, but really to keep Plantat
in suspense. As they differed in their theories, he thought Plantat
betrayed a stupid opposition to him; and he was not sorry to have a
chance for a little triumph.

"That is not all," he went on; "this vest had, in the right pocket,
a large rent, and a piece of it had been torn off. Do you know what
became of that piece of Guespin's vest?"

"Ah," muttered M. Plantat, "it was that which we found in the
countess's hand."

"You are right, Monsieur. And what think you of this proof, pray,
of the prisoner's guilt?"

M. Plantat seemed amazed; his arms fell at his side. As for M.
Lecoq, who, in presence of the judge, had resumed his haberdasher
manner, he was so much surprised that he nearly strangled himself
with a lozenge.

"A thousand devils!" exclaimed he. "That's tough, that is!" He
smiled sillily, and added in a low tone, meant only for Plantat's
ear.

"Mighty tough! Though quite foreseen in our calculations. The
countess held a piece of cloth tightly in her hand; therefore it
was put there, intentionally, by the murderers."

M. Domini did not hear this remark. He shook hands with M. Plantat
and made an appointment to meet him on the morrow, at the court-house.
Then he went away with his clerk.

Guespin and old Bertaud, handcuffed, had a few minutes before being
led off to the prison of Corbeil, under the guard of the Orcival
gendarmes.

VIII

Dr. Gendron had just finished his sad task in the billiard-room.
He had taken off his long coat, and pulled up his shirt-sleeves
above his elbows. His instruments lay on a table near him; he had
covered the body with a lo