Part 59

“Here it is.”

After a silence, Grimaudan continued:

“You killed the countess with a knife purchased by you at the Bazar de la Republique on the same day as you ordered the duplicate key. It has a triangular blade with a groove running from end to end.”

“That is all nonsense. You are simply guessing at something you don’t know. No one ever saw the knife.”

“Here it is.”

Victor Danègre recoiled. The ex-inspector continued:

“There are some spots of rust upon it. Shall I tell you how they came there?”

“Well!.... you have a key and a knife. Who can prove that they belong to me?”

“The locksmith, and the clerk from whom you bought the knife. I have already refreshed their memories, and, when you confront them, they cannot fail to recognize you.”

His speech was dry and hard, with a tone of firmness and precision. Danègre was trembling with fear, and yet he struggled desperately to maintain an air of indifference.

“Is that all the evidence you have?”

“Oh! no, not at all. I have plenty more. For instance, after the crime, you went out the same way you had entered. But, in the centre of the wardrobe-room, being seized by some sudden fear, you leaned against the wall for support.”

“How do you know that? No one could know such a thing,” argued the desperate man.

“The police know nothing about it, of course. They never think of lighting a candle and examining the walls. But if they had done so, they would have found on the white plaster a faint red spot, quite distinct, however, to trace in it the imprint of your thumb which you had pressed against the wall while it was wet with blood. Now, as you are well aware, under the Bertillon system, thumb-marks are one of the principal means of identification.”

Victor Danègre was livid; great drops of perspiration rolled down his face and fell upon the table. He gazed, with a wild look, at the strange man who had narrated the story of his crime as faithfully as if he had been an invisible witness to it. Overcome and powerless, Victor bowed his head. He felt that it was useless to struggle against this marvelous man. So he said:

“How much will you give me, if I give you the pearl?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh! you are joking! Or do you mean that I should give you an article worth thousands and hundreds of thousands and get nothing in return?”

“You will get your life. Is that nothing?”

The unfortunate man shuddered. Then Grimaudan added, in a milder tone:

“Come, Danègre, that pearl has no value in your hands. It is quite impossible for you to sell it; so what is the use of your keeping it?”

“There are pawnbrokers.... and, some day, I will be able to get something for it.”

“But that day may be too late.”

“Why?”

“Because by that time you may be in the hands of the police, and, with the evidence that I can furnish--the knife, the key, the thumb-mark--what will become of you?”

Victor rested his head on his hands and reflected. He felt that he was lost, irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a sense of weariness and depression overcame him. He murmured, faintly:

“When must I give it to you?”

“To-night---within an hour.”