“On what day? Why, to-day, at eight o’clock this morning.” “This morning? What are you talking about?” “The cap was bought this morning.” “But that’s impossible, because it was found last night in the park. If it was found there, it must have been there; and, consequently, it must have been bought before.” “The hatter told me it was bought this morning.” There was a moment of general bewilderment. The nonplussed magistrate strove to understand. Suddenly, he started, as though struck with a gleam of light: “Fetch the cabman who brought us here this morning! The man who drove the calash! Fetch him at once!” The sergeant of gendarmes and his subordinate ran off to the stables. In a few minutes, the sergeant returned alone. “Where’s the cabman?” “He asked for food in the kitchen, ate his lunch and then—” “And then—?” “He went off.” “With his fly?” “No. Pretending that he wanted to go and see a relation at Ouville, he borrowed the groom’s bicycle. Here are his hat and greatcoat.” “But did he leave bare-headed?” “No, he took a cap from his pocket and put it on.” “A cap?” “Yes, a yellow leather cap, it seems.” “A yellow leather cap? Why, no, we’ve got it here!” “That’s true, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, but his is just like it.” The deputy sniggered: “Very funny! Most amusing! There are two caps—One, the real one, which constituted our only piece of evidence, has gone off on the head of the sham flyman! The other, the false one, is in your hands. Oh, the fellow has had us nicely!” “Catch him! Fetch him back!” cried M. Filleul. “Two of your men on horseback, Sergeant Quevillon, and at full speed!” “He is far away by this time,” said the deputy. “He can be as far as he pleases, but still we must lay hold of him.” “I hope so; but I think, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that your efforts should be concentrated here above all. Would you mind reading this scrap of paper, which I have just found in the pocket of the coat?” “Which coat?” “The driver’s.” And the deputy prosecutor handed M. Filleul a piece of paper, folded in four, containing these few words written in pencil, in a more or less common hand: “Woe betide the young lady, if she has killed the governor!” The incident caused a certain stir. “A word to the wise!” muttered the deputy. “We are now forewarned.” “Monsieur le Comte,” said the examining magistrate, “I beg you not to be alarmed. Nor you either, mademoiselle. This threat is of no importance, as the police are on the spot. We shall take every precaution and I will answer for your safety. As for you, gentlemen. I rely on your discretion. You have been present at this inquiry, thanks to my excessive kindness toward the Press, and it would be making me an ill return—” He interrupted himself, as though an idea had struck him, looked at the two young men, one after the other, and, going up to the first, asked: “What paper do you represent, sir?” “The _Journal de Rouen_.” “Have you your credentials?”