"You received my letters?" asked M. Daburon of his clerk.
"Your orders have been executed, sir; the prisoner is without, and here
is M. Martin, who this moment arrived from the neighbourhood of the
Invalides."
"That is well," said the magistrate in a satisfied tone. And, turning
towards the detective, "Well, M. Martin," he asked, "what did you see?"
"The walls had been scaled, sir."
"Lately?"
"Five or six days ago."
"You are sure of this?"
"As sure as I am that I see M. Constant at this moment mending his pen."
"The marks are plain?"
"As plain as the nose on my face, sir, if I may so express myself. The
thief--it was done by a thief, I imagine," continued M. Martin, who was
a great talker--"the thief entered the garden before the rain, and went
away after it, as you had conjectured. This circumstance is easy to
establish by examining the marks on the wall of the ascent and the
descent on the side towards the street. These marks are several
abrasions, evidently made by feet of some one climbing. The first are
clean; the others, muddy. The scamp--he was a nimble fellow--in getting
in, pulled himself up by the strength of his wrists; but when going
away, he enjoyed the luxury of a ladder, which he threw down as soon as
he was on the top of the wall.
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