In hurrying on, in pursuit of the truth, old Tabaret knew only too well,
what it was. His conviction, unwillingly formed when Clergeot had told
him of Noel's follies, had since been strengthened in a number of other
ways. When with Juliette, he had felt positively sure, and yet, at this
last moment, when doubt had become impossible, he was, on beholding the
evidence arrayed against Noel, absolutely thunderstruck.
"Onwards!" he cried at last. "Now to arrest him."
And, without losing an instant, he hastened to the Palais de Justice,
where he hoped to find the investigating magistrate. Notwithstanding
the lateness of the hour, M. Daburon was still in his office. He was
conversing with the Count de Commarin, having related to him the facts
revealed by Pierre Lerouge whom the count had believed dead many years
before.
Old Tabaret entered like a whirlwind, too distracted to notice the
presence of a stranger.
"Sir," he cried, stuttering with suppressed rage, "we have discovered
the real assassin! It is he, my adopted son, my heir, Noel!"
"Noel!" repeated M. Daburon, rising. And then in a lower tone, he added,
"I suspected it.
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