“You forget a detail which has its importance! I do not pretend to judge as to whether she was poisoned by her own free act or not; but, in any case, we have this proof – an uncorked phial of cyanide of potassium was found in Jacques Dollon’s studio. It seemed to have been recently opened; but, when the painter was questioned about it, he declared that he had not made use of this ingredient for a very long time.”

Fandor replied:

“I can turn your argument against you, monsieur. If the Baroness de Vibray had been poisoned, voluntarily or not, with the cyanide of potassium in Dollon’s studio, he would have taken the precaution to banish all traces of the poison in question. It would have been his first concern! When questioned by 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 deduction; but, let me say without offence meant, that you give me the impression of being rather a romantic 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?” Jérôme 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.