Lafcadio got up and went behind Julius’s chair so as to read the paper over his shoulder--and perhaps, too, so as to hide his paleness. There could no longer be any doubt about it; his crime had been tampered with; someone else had touched it up; had cut the piece out of the lining--the unknown person, no doubt, who had carried off his portmanteau. In the meantime Julius went on reading: “...which seems to prove the crime was premeditated. [Why this particular crime? My hero had perhaps merely taken general precautions just at random....] As soon as the police had made the necessary notes, the body was removed to Naples for the purposes of identification. [Yes, I know they have the means there--and the habit of preserving dead bodies....]” “Are you quite sure it was he?” Lafcadio’s voice trembled a little. “Bless my soul! I was expecting him to dinner this evening.” “Have you informed the police?” “Not yet. First of all, I must get clear in my own mind a little. I’m in mourning already, so from that point of view (as regards the dress question, I mean) there’s no need to bother; but you see, as soon as the victim’s name is published, I shall have to communicate with the family, send telegrams, write letters, make arrangements for the funeral, go to Naples to fetch the body.... Oh! my dear Lafcadio, there’s this congress I’ve got to attend--would you mind--would you consent to fetching the body in my place?” “We’ll see about it.” “That is, of course, if it won’t upset you too much. In the meantime I’m sparing my sister-in-law a period of cruel anxiety. She’ll never suspect from the vague accounts in the newspapers.... But to return to my subject. Well, then, when I read this paragraph in the paper, I said to myself: ‘This crime, which I can imagine to myself so easily, which I can reconstruct, which I can see--I know, I tell you, I know the reason for which it was committed; I know that if it hadn’t been for the inducement of the six thousand francs, it would never have been committed.’” “But suppose....” “Yes, yes. Let’s suppose for a moment that there had been no six thousand francs--or, better still, that the criminal didn’t take them--why, he’d have been my hero!” Lafcadio in the meantime had risen; he picked up the paper which Julius had let fall, and opening it at the second page: “I see,” he said in as cool a voice as he could muster, “I see that you haven’t read the latest news. That is exactly what _has_ happened. The criminal did _not_ take the six thousand francs. Look here! Read this: ‘_The motive of the crime, therefore, does not appear to be robbery._’” Julius snatched the sheet that Lafcadio held out to him, read it eagerly, then passed his hand over his eyes, then sat down, then got up abruptly, darted towards Lafcadio, and seizing him with both arms, exclaimed: