“How did that happen?” inquired Mathieu, vexed that he had not guessed aright. “How? How? Go and ask Cremailly of Trinquelin.” Cremailly was the proprietor of a mill, and just now he held the attention of the listeners. Under the calm but piercing gaze of Jeannille Marselon he related how Firmin had broken his leg under conditions and at a moment when he could not be accused of murder. “Well, tell us all you know about it,” urged Rosalie. “Last evening at a quarter to eleven I opened the sluice for the night, and was going to bed, when I heard a noise at the door.” “’Twas Firmin, eh?” interrupted Mathieu. “Wait a moment. Don’t be in such a rush. At first I felt too frightened to go to see who it was, but----” “I believe you,” cried Andoche, rudely interrupting him. “Well, go on.” “Well, soon I heard my name called.” “That reassured you.” “A little, but not much. It was my wife Charlotte----” “Ah! We all know she isn’t afraid of any man.” “No, not she. She said, ‘Go and see who it is, goose, or I will get up and go myself.’” “Then you decided to open the door, of course.” “Not quite yet; but Charlotte was just about getting up, so----” “You are a brave and noble fellow, Cremailly. Accept my compliments,” again interrupted Andoche. “For what?” “I will tell you on the day of my wedding.” “But you are married now.” “Well, well, stupid, what did your wife do?” “Oh, she got to the door first and found Firmin lying on the ground with a broken leg.” “How did it happen?” “I do not know. Charlotte asked him how he came there. You know the mountain, in that locality, slopes to the river. Well, he pretends he tumbled down from above.” “That is a curious explanation.” “But I have an idea,” continued Cremailly, in suppressed tones, “that the scamp was surprised by some luckless husband--you know he is a wheedler--and was obliged to save himself by jumping out of some window.” “Yes, but whose window?” “That I do not know. But as he was found by our door, it could not have been far from us.” “Charlotte could guess better, perhaps, than you.” “Maybe, women are so quick.” “Did he have a gun?” “Firmin? Yes, it laid at his side.” “Was it loaded, do you know?” “Yes, two cartridges.” “Well, then it could not have been Firmin who killed the gamekeeper,” said Andoche. At the same moment Monsieur Banastre, after interrogating the wounded man, the bearers of the stretcher and Madame Cremailly, came to the same conclusion. Some seven or eight inhabitants of Trinquelin who had just arrived gave the same evidence as the mill owner. If the valet’s limb was fractured at eleven o’clock in the evening, he certainly could not have fired the bullet which killed Barrau at four o’clock on the succeeding morning.