gnises him, justice is at times compelled to
acknowledge her defeat, for lack of what the jury consider sufficient
proof of guilt. Thus, unhappily, many crimes escape punishment. An old
advocate-general said one day that he knew as many as three assassins,
living rich, happy, and respected, who would probably end by dying in
their beds, surrounded by their families, and being followed to
the grave with lamentations, and praised for their virtues in their
epitaphs.

At the idea that a murderer might escape the penalty of his crime, and
steal away from the assize court, old Tabaret's blood fairly boiled in
his veins, as at the recollection of some deadly insult.

Such a monstrous event, in his opinion, could only proceed from the
incapacity of those charged with the preliminary inquiry, the clumsiness
of the police, or the stupidity of the investigating magistrate.

"It is not I," he muttered, with the satisfied vanity of success, "who
would ever let my prey escape. No crime can be committed, of which the
author cannot be found, unless, indeed, he happens to be a madman, whose
motive it would be difficult to understand. I would pass my life in
pursuit of a criminal, before avowing myself vanquished, as Gevrol has
done so many times."

Assisted by chance, he had again succeeded, so he kept repeating to
himself, but what proofs could he furnish to the accusation, to that
confounded jury, so difficult to convince, so precise and so cowardly?
What could he imagine to force so cunning a culprit to betray himself?
What trap could he prepare? To what new and infallible stratagem could
he have recourse?

The amateur detective exhausted himself in subtle but impracticable
combinations, always stopped by that exacting jury, so obnoxious to
the agents of the Rue de Jerusalem. He was so deeply absorbed in his
thoughts that he did not hear the door open, and was utterly unconscious
of the magistrate's presence.

M. Daburon's voice aroused him from his reverie.

"You will excuse me, M. Tabaret, for having left you so long alone."

The old fellow rose and bowed respectfully.

"By my faith, sir," replied he, "I have not had the leisure to perceive
my solitude."

M. Daburon crossed the room, and seated himself, facing his agent before
a small table encumbered with papers and documents relating to the
crime. He appeared very much fatigued.

"I have reflected a good deal," he commenced, "about this affair--"

"And I," interru