Rouletabille, naturally, became the “man of the hour.” On leaving the Palais de Justice, the crowd bore him aloft in triumph. The press of the whole world published his exploits and his photograph. He, who had interviewed so many illustrious personages, had himself become illustrious and was interviewed in his turn. I am glad to say that the enormous success in no way turned his head. We left Versailles together, after having dined at “The Dog That Smokes.” In the train I put a number of questions to him which, during our meal, had been on the tip of my tongue, but which I had refrained from uttering, knowing he did not like to talk “shop” while eating. “My friend,” I said, “that Larsan case is wonderful. It is worthy of you.” He begged me to say no more, and humorously pretended an anxiety for me should I give way to silly praise of him because of a personal admiration for his ability. “I’ll come to the point, then,” I said, not a little nettled. “I am still in the dark as to your reason for going to America. When you left the Glandier you had found out, if I rightly understand, all about Frédéric Larsan; you had discovered the exact way he had attempted the murder?” “Quite so. And you,” he said, turning the conversation, “did you suspect nothing?” “Nothing!” “It’s incredible!” “I don’t see how I could have suspected anything. You took great pains to conceal your thoughts from me. Had you already suspected Larsan when you sent for me to bring the revolvers?” “Yes! I had come to that conclusion through the incident of the ‘inexplicable gallery.’ Larsan’s return to Mademoiselle Stangerson’s room, however, had not then been cleared up by the eye-glasses. My suspicions were the outcome of my reasoning only; and the idea of Larsan being the murderer seemed so extraordinary that I resolved to wait for actual evidence before venturing to act. Nevertheless, the suspicion worried me, and I sometimes spoke to the detective in a way that ought to have opened your eyes. I spoke disparagingly of his methods. But until I found the eye-glasses I could but look upon my suspicion of him in the light of an absurd hypothesis only. You can imagine my elation after I had explained Larsan’s movements. I remember well rushing into my room like a madman and crying to you: ‘I’ll get the better of the great Fred. I’ll get the better of him in a way that will make a sensation!’ “I was then thinking of Larsan, the murderer. It was that same evening that Darzac begged me to watch over Mademoiselle Stangerson. I made no efforts until after we had dined with Larsan, until ten o’clock. He was right there before me, and I could afford to wait. You ought to have suspected, because when we were talking of the murderer’s arrival, I said to you: ‘I am quite sure Larsan will be here to-night.’