“Yes, monsieur.”
“You witnessed the arrival of the eleven-forty train?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Look at the prisoner. Do you recognize him as having been one of the passengers to alight?”
“Yes, M. le juge.”
“There is no possibility of your being mistaken?"
“No, monsieur. I know M. Jack Renauld well.”
“Nor of your being mistaken as to the date?”
“No, monsieur. Because it was the following morning, June eighth, that we heard of the murder.”
Another railway official was brought in and confirmed the first one’s evidence. The magistrate looked at Jack Renauld.
“These men have identified you positively. What have you to say?"
“Nothing.”
M. Hautet exchanged a glance with the greffier, as the scratching of the latter’s pen recorded the answer.
“Renauld,” continued the magistrate, “do you recognize this?”
He took something from the table by his side and held it out to the prisoner. I shuddered as I recognized the airplane dagger.
“Pardon,” cried Maître Grosier. “I demand to speak to my client before he answers that question.”
But Jack Renauld had no consideration for the feelings of the wretched Grosier. He waved him aside, and replied quietly, “Certainly I recognize it. It is a present given by me to my mother, as a souvenir.”
“Is there, as far as you know, any duplicate of that dagger in existence?”
Again Maitre Grosier burst out, and again Jack overrode him. “Not that I know of. The setting was my own design.”
Even the magistrate almost gasped at the boldness of the reply. It did, in very truth, seem as though Jack was rushing on his fate. I realized, of course, the vital necessity he was under of concealing, for Bella’s sake, the fact that there was a duplicate dagger in the case. So long as there was supposed to
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