“Yes, I’m here.”
All manner of notions crowded through Nibet’s brain, but he could find words for none of them. Had the plot been discovered before Gurn had had time to get away, or had a trap been laid for himself through the medium of one of the prisoners to test his own incorruptibility? Nibet went white, and leaned against the wall for support. At last Gurn spoke again, reassuring him with a smile.
“Don’t look so miserable,” he said. “I am here. That is a matter of absolutely no importance. We will suppose that nothing passed between us yesterday, and—that’s an end to it.”
“So you haven’t gone, you didn’t go?” said Nibet again.
“No,” Gurn replied; “since you are so interested, all I need say is that I was afraid to risk it at the last minute.”
Nibet had cast a keen and experienced eye all over the cell; under the washstand he saw the little bundle of clothes which he had brought the prisoner the previous day. He rightly opined that the first thing to do was to remove these dangerous articles, whose presence in Gurn’s cell would appear very suspicious if they happened to be discovered. He took the bundle and was hurriedly stowing it away under his own clothes, when he uttered an exclamation of surprise; the things were wet, and he knew from his own experience that the rain had never ceased throughout the whole of the night.
“Gurn,” he said reproachfully, “you are up to some trick! These things are soaked. You must have gone out last night, or these things would not be like this.”
Gurn smiled sympathetically at the warder.
“Not so bad!” he remarked; “that’s pretty good reasoning for a mere gaoler.” And as Nibet was about to press the matter, Gurn anticipated his questions, and made frank confession. “Well, yes, I did try to get out—got as far as the clerk’s office last evening, but at the last minute I funked it, and went back on to the roof. But when I got into number 129 again I found I could not get back into my own cell, for, as you know, 129 was locked outside; so to avoid detection I returned to the roof and spent the night there; at daybreak I took advantage of the little disturbance caused by the workmen coming in, and slipped down from the roof just as they were going up. As soon as I found myself on this floor I ran along this corridor and slipped into my cell. When your friend Colas brought me my broth he did not notice that my cell was unlocked—and there you are!”
The explanation was not altogether convincing, but Nibet listened to it and pondered the situation. On the whole, it was much better that things should be as they were, but the warder was wondering how the great lady, who paid so mighty well, might take the matter. She most certainly had not promised so large a sum of money, nor paid the good round sum of ten thousand francs down in advance, merely in order that Gurn might have a little walk upon the tiles. What was to be done with regard to that personage? With much ingenuousness Nibet confided his anxiety to the prisoner, who laughed.
“It’s not all over yet,” he declared. “Indeed, it is only just beginning. What if we only wanted to test you, and prove your quality? Make your mind easy, Nibet. If Gurn is in prison at the present moment it is because he has his own reasons for being there. But who is able to predict the future?”
It was time for Gurn to go to the exercise yard, and Nibet, reassuming the uncompromising attitude that all warders ought to maintain when in custody of prisoners, led the murderer down to the courtyard.
In his office at the Law Courts, M. Fuselier was having a private interview with Juve, and listening with much interest to what the clever detective inspector was saying to him.
“I tell you again, sir, I attach great importance to the finding of this ordnance map in Gurn’s rooms.”
“Yes?” said M. Fuselier, with a touch of scepticism.
“And I will tell you why,” Juve went on. “About a year ago, when I was engaged on the case of the murder of the Marquise de Langrune at her château of Beaulieu, down in Lot, I found a small piece of a map showing the district in which I was at the time. I took it to M. de Presles, the magistrate who was conducting the enquiry. He attached no importance to it, and I myself could not see at the time that it gave us any new evidence.”
“Quite so,” said M. Fuselier. “There is nothing particularly remarkable in finding a map, or a piece of a map, showing a district, in the district itself.”
“Those are M. de Presles’ very words to me,” said Juve with a smile. “And I will give you the same answer I gave him, namely, that if some day we could find the other portion of the map which completed the first piece we found, and could identify the owner of the two portions, there would then be a formal basis on which to proceed to base an argument.”
“Proceed to base it,” M. Fuselier suggested.
“That’s very easy,” said Juve. “The fragment of map numbered 1, found at Beaulieu, belongs to X. I do not know who X is; but in Paris, in Gurn’s rooms, I find the fragment of map numbered 2, which belongs to Gurn. If it turns out, as I expect, that the two fragments of map, when placed together, form a single and complete whole, I shall conclude logically that X, who was the owner of fragment number 1, is the same as the owner of fragment
