y the police inspector, he would not have
declared that he had not made use of this poison for a very long time!
the contradiction involved is proof that Dollon was sincere; therefore,
we are faced by a fact which, if not inexplicable, is, at least,
unexplained."

Monsieur Barbey now had something to say:

"You criticise and hair-split in a remarkable fashion, monsieur, and are
an adept in the science of induction; but, let me say without offence
meant, that you give me the impression of being rather a romancing
journalist than a judicial investigator!... Admitting that the Baroness
de Vibray was carried to the painter Dollon's studio after her death,
and that seems to be your opinion, what advantage would it be to the
criminals to act in such a fashion?"

Jerome Fandor had risen, his eyes shining, his body vibrating with
excitement.

"I expected your question, monsieur," he cried; "and the answer is
simple. The mysterious criminals seized the Baroness de Vibray's body
and brought it to Dollon's studio to create an alibi, and to cast
suspicion on an innocent man. As you know, the stratagem was successful:
two hours after the discovery of the crime, the police arrested
Mademoiselle Dollon's unfortunate brother!"

With a dramatic gesture Fandor pointed to Elizabeth, who, no longer able
to contain her grief, was weeping bitterly.

The audience had risen, moved, troubled, subjugated, in spite of
themselves, by the journalist's eloquent and persuasive tones. Even
Monsieur Fuselier had quitted his classic green leather arm-chair and
had approached the two bankers: Madame Bourrat was behind them, and the
servant, Jules, with his smooth face and staring eyes.

Fandor continued:

"This is not all, messieurs!... There is still something that must be
said, and I beg of you to listen with all your attention, for what the
result of my declarations will be, I do not know! It is no longer my
reason that speaks, instinct dictates my words! Listen!..."

It was a poignant moment! All the witnesses, the magistrate included,
were thrilled with the certainty that the journalist was about to make a
sensational revelation.

Taking his time, Jerome Fandor walked slowly, quietly up to Elizabeth
who, distraught with grief, was in floods of tears.

"Mademoiselle," he said, in a clear level voice, which was in strange
contrast with his recent persuasive and authoritative tones.
"Mademoiselle, you must tell us everything!... You are h