instinct, read this man's thoughts; saw
again with him also the tragic scene when the portress, suddenly
entering M. Rovere's apartments, had seen him standing, face to face
with Dantin, in front of the open safe, with a great quantity of papers
spread out.

"Do you believe that he had many enemies?" asked the police agent, with
deliberate calculation.

"No," Dantin sharply replied, without hesitation. Bernardet waited a
moment, then in a firm voice he said: "M. Ginory will no doubt count a
good deal on you in order to bring about the arrest of the assassin."

"M. Ginory?"

"The Examining Magistrate."

"Then he will have to make haste with his investigation," Jacques Dantin
replied. "I shall soon be obliged to leave Paris." This reply astonished
Bernardet. This departure, of which the motive was probably a simple
one, seemed to him strange under the tragic circumstances. M. Dantin,
moreover, did not hesitate to give him, without his asking for it, his
address, adding that he would hold himself in readiness from his return
from the cemetery at the disposition of the Examining Magistrate.

"The misfortune is that I can tell nothing, as I know nothing. I do not
even suspect who could have any interest in killing that unfortunate
man. A professional criminal, without doubt."

"I do not believe so."

The cortege had now reached one of the side avenues; a white fog
enveloped everything, and the marble tombs shone ghostly through it. The
spot chosen by M. Rovere himself was at the end of the Avenue de la
Cloche. The car slowly rolled toward the open grave. Mme. Moniche,
overcome with grief, staggered as she walked along, but her husband,
the tailor, seemed to be equal to the occasion and his role. They both
assumed different expressions behind their dead. And Paul Rodier walked
along just in front of them, note book in hand. Bernardet promised
himself to keep close watch of Dantin and see in what manner he carried
himself at the tomb. A pressure of the crowd separated them for a
moment, but the officer was perfectly satisfied. Standing on the other
side of the grave, face to face with him, was Dantin; a row of the most
curious had pushed in ahead of Bernardet, but in this way he could
better see Dantin's face, and not miss the quiver of a muscle. He stood
on tiptoe and peered this way and that, between the heads, and could
thus scrutinize and analyze, without being perceived himself.

Dantin was standing on the very