the perfection of a new discovery. He had undertaken a
formidable problem, apparently insoluble, and he desired to solve it.
Once or twice he took out from the pocket of his redingote an old worn
case and looked at the proofs of the retina which he had pasted on a
card. There could be no doubt. This figure, a little confused, had the
very look of the man who had bent over the grave. M. Ginory would be
struck by it when he had Jacques Dantin before him. Provided the
Examining Magistrate still had the desire which Bernardet had incited in
him, to push the matter to the end. Fortunately M. Ginory was very
curious. With this curiosity anything might happen. The time seemed
long. What if this Dantin, who spoke of leaving Paris, should disappear,
should escape the examination? What miserable little affair occupied M.
Ginory? Would he ever be at liberty?

The door opened, a man in a blouse was led out; the registrar appeared
on the threshold and Bernardet asked if he could not see M. Ginory
immediately, as he had an important communication to make to him.

"I will not detain him long," he said.

Far from appearing annoyed, the Magistrate seemed delighted to see the
officer. He related to him all he knew, how he had seen the man at M.
Rovere's funeral. That Mme. Moniche had recognized him as the one whom
she had surprised standing with M. Rovere before the open safe. That he
had signed his name and took first rank in the funeral cortege, less by
reason of an old friendship which dated from childhood than by that
strange and impulsive sentiment which compels the guilty man to haunt
the scene of his crime, to remain near his victim, as if the murder, the
blood, the corpse, held for him a morbid fascination.

"I shall soon know," said M. Ginory. He dictated to the registrar a
citation to appear before him, rang the bell and gave the order to serve
the notice on M. Dantin at the given address and to bring him to the
Palais.

"Do not lose sight of him," he said to Bernardet, and began some other
examinations. Bernardet bowed and his eyes shone like those of a sleuth
hound on the scent of his prey.

CHAPTER X.

BETWEEN the examining Magistrate, who questioned, and the man cited to
appear before him, who replied, it was a duel; a close game, rapid and
tragic, in which each feint might make a mortal wound; in which each
parry and thrust might be decisive. No one in the world has the power