Then, with a cruel laugh, he turned on Bregeac and went on: “But we haven’t finished yet, Bregeac. When I play a game, I play it to the end.” Bregeac smiled bitterly: “You’re going still further? What’s the use of it?” he said. “I’m going further,” said Marescal, glowering at him. “With regard to this child’s crimes, we’ve come to the end of them. Everything is settled. But are we to stop there?” He thrust forward his face and glared into Bregeac’s eyes. “What do you say about it?” He paused, then went on: “You know what I mean. If you hadn’t known, and known that it was true, you wouldn’t have signed, and you wouldn’t have let me take this tone I have with you. Your resignation is a confession. And if I am able to take this tone, Bregeac, it is because you are afraid!” “I’m afraid of nothing!” protested Bregeac. “I am bearing the burden of this unfortunate child’s crimes—crimes she must have committed in a moment of madness.” “And the burden of what you have done yourself, Bregeac.” “Besides that, there is nothing.” “Besides that, there is the past,” said Marescal slowly and with gloomy severity. “We’ll say no more of the crime of to-day. But what about the crime of bygone days, Bregeac?” “The crime of bygone days? What crime? What do you mean?” Marescal banged on the table, his final argument, which perhaps emphasized an explosion of anger. “Explanations? It’s I who am asking for explanations. What does that recent expedition of yours to the bank of the Seine mean? On Sunday morning? And your watch near the empty villa? And your pursuit of the man with the sack? Am I to refresh your memory and remind you that that villa belonged to the men your step-daughter murdered, and that the man you watched was an individual of the name of Jodot—I’m searching for him high and low, by the way—the partner of the brothers Loubeaux? Jodot whom I used to meet in this very house. Goodness, how it all hangs together! How clear the connection grows between all these events!” Bregeac shrugged his shoulders and muttered: “Absurdities! Imbecile hypotheses!” “Hypotheses: yes—fancies to which I did not pay very much attention when I used to come here formerly—till I scented, like the keen sleuth I am, all the embarrassment, the reticence, the confused apprehension that colored your actions and your words. But hypotheses which have for some time and little by little been confirmed—which we are going to turn into certainties, Bregeac—yes: you and I together, Bregeac—without your being able to get out of it—of which I’m going to produce the irrefutable proof—and you a complete confession, without knowing it—here—immediately.” He took up the cardboard case which he had brought with him and set it on the mantelpiece, and opened it. It contained one of those straw sheaths used to prevent bottles from breaking. There was a bottle in it. Marescal took it out and set it on the table in front of Bregeac.