No More Learning

Those that are ingenious and idle. These think, with the
hare in the fable, that running with snails-so they count the rest
of their schoolfellows-they shall come soon enough to the post,
though sleeping a good while before their starting.
Oh! a good
rod would finely take them napping!
3.
Those that are dull and diligent. Wines, the stronger
they be, the more lees they have when they are new. Many
boys are muddy-headed till they be clarified with age, and such


## p. 6134 (#104) ###########################################

6134
THOMAS FULLER
afterwards prove the best. Bristol diamonds are both bright, and
squared, and pointed by nature, and yet are soft and worthless;
whereas Orient ones in India are rough and rugged naturally.
Hard, rugged, and dull natures of youth acquit themselves after-
wards the jewels of the country, and therefore their dullness at
first is to be borne with if they be diligent. The schoolmaster
deserves to be beaten himself, who beats Nature in a boy for a
fault. And I question whether all the whipping in the world
can make their parts, which are naturally sluggish, rise one
minute before the hour Nature hath appointed.
4. Those that are invincibly dull, and negligent also. Correc-
tion may reform the latter, not amend the former. All the
whetting in the world can never set a razor's edge on that which
hath no steel in it. Such boys he consigneth over to other pro-
fessions. Shipwrights and boat-makers will choose those crooked
pieces of timber which other carpenters refuse. Those may make
excellent merchants and mechanics who will not serve for
scholars.
He is able, diligent, and methodical in his teaching; not lead-
ing them rather in a circle than forwards. He minces his pre-
cepts for children to swallow, hanging clogs on the nimbleness
of his own soul, that his scholars may go along with him.
ON BOOKS
From The Holy and Profane State ›
IT
T IS a vanity to persuade the world one hath much learning by
getting a great library. As soon shall I believe every one
is valiant that hath a well-furnished armory. I guess good
housekeeping by the smoking, not the number of the tunnels, as
knowing that many of them-built merely for uniformity—are
without chimneys, and more without fires.
Some books are only cursorily to be tasted of: namely, first,
voluminous books, the task of a man's life to read them over;
secondly, auxiliary books, only to be repaired to on occasions;
thirdly, such as are mere pieces of formality, so that if you look
on them you look through them, and he that peeps through the
casement of the index sees as much as if he were in the house.
But the laziness of those cannot be excused who perfunctorily
pass over authors of cons
onsequence, and only trade in their tables


## p. 6135 (#105) ###########################################

THOMAS FULLER
6135
and contents.
These, like city cheaters, having gotten the names
of all country gentlemen, make silly people believe they have
long lived in those places where they never were, and flourish
with skill in those authors they never seriously studied.
LONDON
From The Worthies of England'
IT
Tis the second city in Christendom for greatness, and the first
for good government. There is no civilized part of the
world but it has heard thereof, though many with this mis-
take: that they conceive London to be the country and England
but the city therein.
Some have suspected the declining of the lustre thereof, be-
cause of late it vergeth so much westward, increasing in build-
ings, Covent Garden, etc. But by their favor (to disprove their
fear) it will be found to burnish round about with new struct-
ures daily added thereunto.
It oweth its greatness under God's divine providence to the
well-conditioned river of Thames, which doth not (as some tyrant
rivers of Europe) abuse its strength in a destructive way, but
employeth its greatness in goodness, to be beneficial to com-
merce, by the reciprocation of the tide therein. Hence it was
that when King James, offended with the city, threatened to re-
move his court to another place, the Lord Mayor (boldly enough)
returned that "he might remove his court at his pleasure, but
could not remove the river Thames. "
Erasmus will have London so called from Lindus, a city of
Rhodes; averring a great resemblance betwixt the languages and
customs of the Britons and Grecians. But Mr. Camden (who no
doubt knew of it) honoreth not this his etymology with the least
mention thereof. As improbable in my apprehension is the
deduction from Lud's-Town,-town being a Saxon, not British
termination; and that it was so termed from Lan Dian, a temple
of Diana (standing where now St. Paul's doth), is most likely in
my opinion.


## p. 6136 (#106) ###########################################

6136
THOMAS FULLER
MISCELLANEOUS SAYINGS
I'
T IS dangerous to gather flowers that grow on the banks of the
pit of hell, for fear of falling in; yea, they which play with
the Devil's rattles will be brought by degrees to wield his
sword; and from making of sport they come to doing of mis-
chief.
A public office is a guest which receives the best usage from
them who never invited it.
Scoff not at the natural defects of any, which are not in their
power to amend. Oh! 'tis cruel to beat a cripple with his own
crutches.
Learning has gained most by those books by which the print-
ers have lost.
Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl
chain of all virtues.
To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body;
no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.
The lion is not so fierce as painted.
Their heads sometimes so little that there is no room
for wit; sometimes so long that there is no wit for so much
room.
·
Often the cock-loft is empty in those whom nature hath built
many stories high.
The Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the
names of their founders.
One that will not plead that cause wherein his tongue
must be confuted by his conscience.
But our captain counts the image of God nevertheless his
image-cut in ebony as if done in ivory; and in the blackest
Moors he sees the representation of the King of Heaven.
_


## p. 6137 (#107) ###########################################

6137
ÉMILE GABORIAU
(1835-1873)
O SPEAK of the detective novel is to speak of Gaboriau. He
cannot be called the father of it; but the French novelist
made his field so peculiarly his own, developed its type of
human nature so painstakingly, created so distinctive a reputation
associated with it, that it is doubtful whether any one can be said to
have outrivaled him.
Born at Saujon, in the Department of the Charente-Inférieure, in
1835, Gaboriau drifted from school into the cavalry service; then into
three or four less picturesque methods of keeping body and soul to-
gether; and finally, by a kind of literary accident, he became the
private secretary of the Parisian novelist Paul Féval. His first suc-
cessful story ran as a continued one in a journal called Le Pays. It
was 'The Lerouge Affair,' but it did not even under newspaper cir-
cumstances find any considerable favor until it caught the eye of the
astute Millaud, the founder of the Petit Journal. Millaud recognized
in the fiction a new note in detective-novel making. He transferred
it to another journal, Le Soleil. There it made an instant and tre-
mendous success.
From that moment Gaboriau's career was determined and fortu-
nate. In rapid succession followed The Crime of Orcival' (1867);
'File No. 113' (1867); the elaborate Slaves of Paris' (1869); M. Le-
coq' (1869),—in which title appears the name of the moving spirit
of almost all the other stories; The Infernal Life' (1870); and four
or five others. All these stories have been translated into almost
every modern language that has a reading public. They brought
Gaboriau a large income during his lifetime, and they are still valu-
able literary properties. Their author died in Paris, his health broken
in consequence of incessant overwork, in September 1873.
Gaboriau elevated the detective story to something like a superior
plane in popular fiction. It is a question whether he did not say in
a large measure the strongest word in it, and to all intents and pur-
poses the last word. His books all have a certain resemblance, in
that we start into a complex drama with a riddle of crime. The un-
folding always brings us sooner or later to a dramatic family secret,
of which the original crime has only been an outside detail.
The


## p. 6138 (#108) ###########################################

6138
ÉMILE GABORIAU
-
secret is the mainspring of the book, and about the middle of it the
reader finds himself chiefly absorbed by it. Indeed, Gaboriau's novels
have often been spoken of as "told backward. " Most of the novels
too gain their movement from one source - the wonderful shrewdness
and audacity of a certain M. Lecoq of the Paris detective service.
M. Lecoq was really an exaggeration of the well-known and wonder-
fully able Paris detective, M. Vidocq; and there are dozens of epi-
sodes in the course of Vidocq's brilliant professional career which
Gaboriau did not dress up so very much in introducing them into his
stories. There is an individuality to each novel, in spite of the fam-
ily likeness. Occasionally, like Dickens, the author attacked abuses
with effect; as in 'The Infernal Life' and 'The Slaves of Paris,' and
other books where he has set forth the merciless system of private
blackmailing in Paris with little exaggeration.
As to literary manner, Gaboriau was not a writer of the first
order, even as a French popular novelist. But he knew how to write;
and there is a correctness of diction and a nervous vivacity that is
much to his credit, considering the rapidity with which he produced
his work, and the fact that he had no sufficient early training for his
profession. He is seldom slipshod, and he is never really negligent.
He has been criticized for making his dénouements too simple, if one
regards them as a whole process; but his details are full of variety,
and the reader of Gaboriau never is troubled to keep his attention on
the author's pages, even in the case of those stories that are not of
the first class among his works. Perhaps the best of all the novels
is one of the shorter ones, 'File No. 113. '
THE IMPOSTOR AND THE BANKER'S WIFE: THE ROBBERY
From File No. 113'
R
AOUL SPENCER, supposed to be Raoul de Clameran, began to
triumph over his instincts of revolt. He ran to the door
and rang the bell. It opened.
"Is my aunt at home? " he asked the footman.
"Madame is alone in the boudoir next her room," replied the
servant.
Raoul ascended.
Clameran had said to Raoul, "Above all, be careful about your
entrance; your appearance must express everything, and thus you
will avoid impossible explanations. "
The suggestion was useless.


## p. 6139 (#109) ###########################################

EMILE GABORIAU
6139
When Raoul entered the little reception-room, his pale face
and wild eyes frightened Madame Fauvel, who cried:-
"Raoul! What has happened to you? "
The sound of her gentle voice produced upon the young va-
grant the effect of an electric shock. He trembled from head to
foot: yet his mind was clear; Louis had not been mistaken in
him. Raoul continued his rôle as if on the stage, and as assur-
ance came to him his knavery crushed his better nature.
"Mother, the misfortune which has come to me," he replied,
"is the last one. "
―
Madame Fauvel had never seen him like this. Trembling
with emotion, she rose and stood before him, with her tender face
near his.
She fixed in a steady gaze the power of her will, as if
she meant to read the depths of his soul.
"What is it? " she insisted. "Raoul, my son, tell me. "
He pushed her gently away.
"What has happened," he replied in a choked voice which
pierced the heart of Madame Fauvel, "proves that I am un-
worthy of you, unworthy of my noble and generous father. ”
She moved her head in protestation.
"Ah! " he continued, "I know and judge myself. No one
could reproach my own infamous conduct so cruelly as my own
conscience. I was not born wicked, but I am a miserable fool.
I have hours when, as if in a vertigo, I do not know what I am
doing. Ah! I should not have been like this, mother, if you had
been with me in my childhood. But brought up among strangers,
and left to myself without any guides but my own instincts, I
am at the mercy of my own passions. Possessing nothing, not
even my stolen name, I am vain and devoured by ambition.
Poor and without resources but your help, I have the tastes and
vices of a millionaire's son. Alas! when I recovered you, the
harm was done. Your affection, your maternal tenderness which
have given me my only days of happiness, could not save me.
I who have suffered so much, who have endured so many priva-
tions, who have known hunger, have been spoiled by this new
luxury with which you have surrounded me. I threw myself into
pleasure as a drunkard rushes for the strong drink of which he
has been deprived. "
Raoul expressed himself with such intense conviction and as-
surance that Madame Fauvel did not interrupt.
Mute and terrified, she dared not question him, fearful of
learning some horrible news.


## p. 6140 (#110) ###########################################

6140
ÉMILE GABORIAU
He however continued:-
"Yes, I have been a fool. Happiness
has passed by me, and I did not know enough to stretch out my
hand to take it. I have rejected an exquisite reality for the pur-
suit of a phantom. I, who should have spent my life by your
side and sought constantly for new proofs of my love and grati-
tude, I, a dark shadow, give you a cruel stab, cause you sorrow,
and render you the most unfortunate of beings. Ah! what a
brute I have been! For the sake of a creature whom I should
despise, I have thrown to the wind a fortune whose every piece
of gold has cost you a tear! With you lies happiness. I know it
too late. "
He stopped, overcome by the thought of his evil conduct,
ready to burst into tears.
"It is never too late to repent, my son," murmured Madame
Fauvel, and redeem your wrong. "
«<
"Ah, if I could! " cried Raoul; "but no, it is too late. Who
knows how long my good resolutions will last? It is not only
to-day that I have condemned myself without pity. Seized by
remorse at each new failure, I have sworn to regain my self-
respect. Alas! to what has my periodical repentance amounted?
At the first new temptation I forget my remorse and my oaths.
You consider me a man: I am only an unstable child. I am
weak and cowardly, and you are not strong enough to dominate
my weakness and control my vacillating character. I have the
best intentions in the world, yet my actions are those of a scoun-
drel. The gap between my position and my nature is too wide
for me to reconcile them. Who knows where my deplorable
character may lead me? "
He gave a gesture expressing recklessness, and added, "I
myself will bring justice upon myself. "
Madame Fauvel was too deeply agitated to follow Raoul's
sudden moods.
"Speak! " she cried; "explain yourself. Am I not your mother?
You must tell me the truth; I must hear all. "
He appeared to hesitate, as if he feared to give so terrible a
shock to his mother. Finally, in a hollow voice he said, "I am
ruined! "
"Ruined! "
"Yes, and I have nothing more to wait for nor to hope for.
I am dishonored, and through my own fault, my own grievous
fault! "
"Raoul! »


## p. 6141 (#111) ###########################################

ÉMILE GABORIAU
6141
"It is true. But fear not, mother; I will not drag the name
that you bestowed upon me in the dirt. I have the vulgar cour-
age not to survive my dishonor. Go, waste no sympathy on me.
I am one of those creatures of destiny who have no refuge save
death. I am the victim of fate. Have you not been forced to
deny my birth? Did not the memory of me haunt you and de-
prive your nights of sleep? And now, having found you, in
exchange for your devotion I bring into your life a bitter curse. "
"Ungrateful child! Have I ever reproached you? "
"Never. And therefore with your blessing, and with your
loved name on his lips, your Raoul will - die! "
"Die? You ? »
"Yes, mother: honor bids it. I am condemned by inexorable
judges-my will and my conscience. "
An hour earlier Madame Fauvel would have sworn that Raoul
had made her suffer all that a woman could endure; and now he
had brought her a new grief so acute that the former ones
seemed naught in comparison.
"What have you done? " she stammered.
«< Money was intrusted to me. I played, and lost it. "
"Was it a large amount? "
"No, but neither you nor I can replace it. Poor mother, have
I not taken everything from you? Haven't you given me your
last jewel? "
"But M. De Clameran is rich; he has put his fortune at my
disposal.
I will order the carriage and go to him. "
"M. De Clameran, mother, is absent for eight days; and I must
have the money to-night, or I am lost. Go! I have thought of
everything before deciding. But one loves life at twenty! "
He drew a pistol half out of his pocket, saying with a grim
smile, "This will arrange everything. "
Madame Fauvel was too unnerved in reflecting upon the
horror of the conduct of the supposed Raoul de Clameran to
fancy that this last wild menace was but a means for obtaining
money.
Forgetting the past, ignoring the future, and concentrating her
thought on the present situation, she saw but one thing-that
her son was about to kill himself, and that she was powerless to
arrest his suicide.
"Wait, wait," she said; "André will soon return, and I will
tell him that I have need of How much did you lose? "
-


## p. 6142 (#112) ###########################################

6142
ÉMILE GABORIAU
"Thirty thousand francs. "
"You shall have them to-morrow. "
"I must have them to-night. "
She seemed to be going mad; she wrung her hands in' de-
Do you
spair.
"To-night! " she said: "why didn't you come sooner?
To-night there is no one to open the
lack confidence in me?
safe without that->
-
The expectant Raoul caught the word. He gave an exclama-
tion of joy, as if a light had broken upon his dark despair.
"The safe! " he cried; "do you know where the key is? »
"Yes, it is here. "
"Thank heaven! "
He looked at Madame Fauvel with such a demoniacal glance
that she dropped her eyes.
"Give it to me, mother," he entreated.
"Miserable boy! "
"It is life that I ask of you. "
This prayer decided her. Taking a candle, she stepped quickly
into her room, opened the writing-desk, and there found M. Fau-
vel's own key.
But as she was handing it to Raoul, reason returned.
"No," she murmured; "no, it is impossible. "
He did not insist, and indeed seemed willing to retire.
"Ah, well! " he said. "Then, my mother, one last kiss. "
She stopped him:- "What will you do with the key, Raoul?
Have you also the secret word? "
"No, but I can try. "
---
"You know there is never money in the safe. ”
"Let us try. If I open it by a miracle, and if there is
money in the box, then I shall believe that God has taken pity
upon us. "
"And if you do not succeed? Then will you swear that you
will wait until to-morrow? »
"Upon the memory of my father, I swear it. "
"Then here is the key! Come. "
They had now reached Prosper's office, and Raoul had placed
the lamp on a high shelf, from which point it lighted the entire
room. He had recovered all of his self-possession, or rather that
peculiar mechanical precision of action which seems to be inde-
pendent of the will, and which men accustomed to peril always


## p. 6143 (#113) ###########################################

ÉMILE GABORIAU
6143
His
find at their service in times of pressing need. Rapidly, and
with the dexterity of experience, he placed the five buttons of
the iron box upon the letters forming the name g,y,p,s,y.
expression during this short performance was one of intense
anxiety. He began to fear that the excited energy which he
had summoned might fail him, and also that if he did open the
box he might not find the hoped-for sum. Prosper might have
changed the letters, and he might have been sent to the bank
that day.
Madame Fauvel watched Raoul with pathetic distress. She
read in his wild eyes that despair of the unfortunate, who so
passionately desire a result that they fancy their unassisted will
can overcome all obstacles.
Being intimate with Prosper, and having frequently watched
him close the office, Raoul knew perfectly well-indeed, he had
made it a study and attempted it himself, for he was a far-seeing
youth-how to manipulate the key in the lock.
He inserted it gently, turned it, pushed it in deeper, and
turned it again, then he pushed it in with a violent shock and
turned it once more. His heart beat so loudly that Madame
Fauvel could hear it.
The word had not been changed: the box opened.
Raoul and his mother uttered cries-hers of terror, his of
triumph.
"Shut it! " screamed Madame Fauvel, frightened at this inex-
plicable and incomprehensible result; "leave it-come! "
And half mad, she threw herself upon Raoul, clinging to his
arm in desperation and drawing him to her with such violence
that the key was dragged from the lock and along the door of
the coffer, leaving a long and deep mark.
But Raoul had had time to notice upon the upper shelf of the
box three bundles of bank-notes. These he quickly snatched
with his left hand, slipped them under his coat and placed them
between his waistcoat and shirt.
Exhausted by her efforts, and yielding to the violence of her
emotions, Madame Fauvel dropped Raoul's arm, and to avoid
falling, supported herself on the back of Prosper's arm-chair.
"I implore you, Raoul," she said, "I beseech you to put
those bank-notes back in the box. I shall have money to-morrow,
I swear it to you a hundred times over, and I will give it to
you, my son. I beg you to take pity on your mother! "


## p. 6144 (#114) ###########################################

6144
ÉMILE GABORIAU
He paid no attention to her. He was examining the long
scratch on the door. This mark of the theft was very convincing
and disturbing.
"At least," implored Madame Fauvel, "don't take all. Keep
what you need to save yourself, and leave the rest. "
"What for? Would a balance make discovery less easy? "
"Yes, because I-you see I can manage it. Let me arrange
it! I can find an explanation! I will tell André that I needed
money-
>>
With precaution, Raoul closed the safe.
«< Come," he said to his mother, "let us leave, so that we may
not be suspected. One of the servants might go to the drawing-
room and be surprised not to find us there. "
His cruel indifference and cold calculation at such a moment
filled Madame Fauvel with indignation. Yet she still hoped that
she might influence her son. She still believed in the power of
her entreaties and tears.
"Ah me! " she said, "it might be as well! If they discover
us, I care little or nothing. We are lost! André will drive me
from the house, a miserable creature. But at least, I will not
sacrifice the innocent. To-morrow Prosper will be accused.
Clameran has taken from him the woman he loves, and you, now
you will rob him of his honor. I will not. "
She spoke so loud and with such a penetrating voice that
Raoul was alarmed. He knew that the office clerk slept in an
adjoining room. Although it was not late, he might have gone
to bed; and if so, he could hear every word.
"Let us go," he said, seizing Madame Fauvel by the arm.
But she resisted, and clung to a table, the better to resist.
"I have been a coward to sacrifice Madeleine," she said qui-
etly. “I will not sacrifice Prosper! "
Raoul knew of a victorious argument which would break
Madame Fauvel's resolution.
"Ah! " he cried with a cynical laugh; "you do not know, then,
that Prosper and I are in league, and that he shares my fate. "
"That is impossible. "
"What do you think? Do you imagine that it was chance
which gave me the secret word and opened the box? "
"Prosper is honest. "
"Of course, and so am I. But- we need the money. ”
"You speak falsely! "
-


## p. 6145 (#115) ###########################################

ÉMILE GABORIAU
6145
"No, dear mother. Madeleine left Prosper, and—well, bless
me! he has tried to console himself, the poor fellow; and such
consolations are expensive. "
He had lifted the lamp; and gently but with much force
pushed Madame Fauvel towards the staircase.
She seemed to be more dumbfounded than when she saw the
open safe.
"What," she said, "Prosper a thief? "
She asked herself if she were not the victim of a terrible
nightmare; if an awakening would not rid her of this unspeak-
able torture. She could not control her thoughts, and mechani-
cally, supported by Raoul, she placed her foot on the narrow.
stairs.
"The key must be returned to the writing-desk," said Raoul,
when they reached the bedroom.
She appeared not to hear, and it was Raoul who replaced the
key in the box from which he had seen her take it.
He then led or rather carried Madame Fauvel to the little
drawing-room where he had found her upon his arrival, and
placed her in an easy-chair. The utter prostration of this un-
happy woman, her fixed eyes, and her loss of expression, revealed
only too well the agony of her mind. Raoul, frightened, asked
if she had gone mad?
"Come, mother dear," he said, as he tried to warm her icy
hands, "come to yourself. You have saved my life, and we have
both rendered a great service to Prosper. Fear nothing: all will
come straight. Prosper will be accused, perhaps arrested. He
expects that; but he will deny it, and as his guilt cannot be
proved, he will be released. "
But his lies and his efforts were lost upon Madame Fauvel,
who was too distracted to hear them.
"Raoul," she murmured, "my son, you have killed me! "
Her voice was so impressive in its sorrow, her tone was so
tender in its despair, that Raoul was affected, and even decided
to restore the stolen money. But the thought of Clameran
returned.
Then, noticing that Madame Fauvel remained in her chair,
bewildered and as still as death, trembling at the thought that
M. Fauvel or Madeleine might enter at any moment, he pressed
a kiss upon his mother's forehead-and fled.
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature. >
XI-385


## p. 6146 (#116) ###########################################

6146
ÉMILE GABORIAU
M. LECOQ'S SYSTEM
From File No. 113'
I
THE centre of a large and curiously furnished room, half
library and half actor's study, was seated at a desk the same
person wearing gold spectacles who had said at the police.
station to the accused cashier Prosper Bertomy, "Take courage! "
This was M. Lecoq in his official character.
Upon the entrance of Fanferlot, who advanced respectfully,
curving his backbone as he bowed, M. Lecoq slightly lifted his
head and laid down his pen, saying, "Ah! you have come at
last, my boy! Well, you don't seem to be progressing with the
Bertomy case. "
"Why, really," stammered Fanferlot, "you know—»
"I know that you have muddled everything, until you are so
blinded that you are ready to give over. "
"But master, it was not I—”
M. Lecoq had arisen and was pacing the floor. Suddenly he
stopped before Fanferlot, nicknamed "the Squirrel. ”
"What do you think, Master Squirrel," he asked in a hard
and ironical tone, "of a man who abuses the confidence of those
who employ him, who reveals enough of what he has discovered
to make the evidence misleading, and who betrays for the benefit
of his foolish vanity the cause of justice-and an unhappy pris-
oner? »
The frightened Fanferlot recoiled a step.
"I should say," he began, "I should say —"
"You think this man should be punished and dismissed; and
you are right. The less a profession is honored, the more hon-
orable should be those who follow it. You however are treach-
erous. Ah! Master Squirrel, we are ambitious, and we try to
play the police in our own way! We let Justice wander where
she will, while we search for other things. It takes a more cun-
ning bloodhound than you, my boy, to hunt without a hunter
and at his own risk. "
"But master, I swear-»
"Be silent. Do you wish me to prove that you have told
everything to the examining magistrate, as was your duty? Go
to! While others were charging the cashier, you informed against
the banker! You watched him; you became intimate with his
valet de chambre! »


## p. 6147 (#117) ###########################################

ÉMILE GABORIAU
6147
Was M. Lecoq really in anger? Fanferlot, who knew him well,
doubted it a little; but with this devil of a man one never quite
knew how to take him.
"If you were only clever," he continued, "but no! You wish
to be a master, and you are not even a good workman. "
"You are right, master," said Fanferlot piteously, who could.
deny no longer. "But how could I work upon a business like
this, when there was no trace, no mark, no sign, no conviction,
-nothing, nothing? "
M. Lecoq raised his shoulders.
"Poor boy! " he said. "Know, then, that the day when you
were summoned with the commissary to verify the robbery, you
had-I will not say certainly but very probably-between your
two large and stupid hands the means of knowing which key, the
banker's or the cashier's, had been used in committing the theft. "
"What an idea! "
"You want proof? Very well. Do you remember that mark
which you observed on the side of the copper? It struck you,
for you did not repress an exclamation when you saw it. You
examined it carefully with a glass; and you were convinced that
it was quite fresh, and therefore made recently. You said, and
with reason, that this mark dated from the moment of the theft.
But with what had it been made? With a key, evidently. That
being the case, you should have demanded the keys of the
banker and the cashier, and examined them attentively. One of
these would have shown some atoms of the green paint with
which a strong-box is usually coated. "
Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this explanation. At
the last words, he slapped his forehead violently, and cried of
himself "Imbecile! "
――――
"You are right," replied M. Lecoq-"imbecile. What! With
such a guide before your eyes, you neglected it and drew no
conclusion!