He broke a silence of fifteen years. He forgot himself so far as to
offer an opinion.
"This, sir," said he, "is a most extraordinary affair."
Very extraordinary, truly, thought M. Daburon, and calculated to rout
all predictions, all preconceived opinions.
Why had he, the magistrate, moved with such deplorable haste? Why before
risking anything, had he not waited to possess all the elements of this
important case, to hold all the threads of this complicated drama?
Justice is accused of slowness; but it is this very slowness that
constitutes its strength and surety, its almost infallibility. One
scarcely knows what a time evidence takes to produce itself. There is no
knowing what important testimony investigations apparently useless may
reveal.
When the entanglement of the various passions and motives seems
hopeless, an unknown personage presents himself, coming from no one
knows where, and it is he who explains everything.
M. Daburon, usually the most prudent of men, had considered as simple
one of the most complex of cases. He had acted in a mysterious crime,
which demanded the utmost caution, as carelessly as though it were a
case of simple misdemeanour.
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