"Yes, yes…. I took a taxi and drove about. … I also walked a little—"
"That is a fact which we can easily verify when we have found the driver of the taxi. Meanwhile, there is an opportunity of removing the somewhat … grievous impression which your silence has left on our minds."
"I am quite ready—"
"It is this: the person or one of the persons who took part in the crime appears to have bitten into an apple which was afterward thrown away in the garden and which has just been found. To put an end to any suppositions concerning yourself, we should like you to perform the same action."
"Oh, certainly!" she cried, eagerly. "If this is all you need to convince you—"
She took one of the three apples which Desmalions handed her from the dish and lifted it to her mouth.
It was a decisive act. If the two marks resembled each other, the proof existed, assured and undeniable.
Before completing her movement, she stopped short, as though seized with a sudden fear…. Fear of what? Fear of the monstrous chance that might be her undoing? Or fear rather of the dread weapon which she was about to deliver against herself? In any case nothing accused her with greater directness than this last hesitation, which was incomprehensible if she was innocent, but clear as day if she was guilty!
"What are you afraid of, Madame?" asked M. Desmalions.
"Nothing, nothing," she said, shuddering. "I don't know…. I am afraid of everything…. It is all so horrible—"
"But, Madame, I assure you that what we are asking of you has no sort of importance and, I am persuaded, can only have a fortunate result for you. If you don't mind, therefore—"
She raised her hand higher and yet higher, with a slowness that betrayed her uneasiness. And really, in the fashion in which things were happening, the scene was marked by a certain solemnity and tragedy that wrung every heart.
"And, if I refuse?" she asked, suddenly.
"You are absolutely entitled to refuse," said the Prefect of Police. "But is it worth while, Madame? I am sure that your counsel would be the first to advise you—"
"My counsel?" she stammered, understanding the formidable meaning conveyed by that reply.
And, suddenly, with a fierce resolve and the almost ferocious air that contorts the face when great dangers threaten, she made the movement which they were pressing her to make. She opened her mouth. They saw the gleam of the white teeth. At one bite, the white teeth dug into the fruit.
"There you are, Monsieur," she said.
M. Desmalions turned to the examining magistrate.
"Have you the apple found in the garden?"
"Here, Monsieur le Préfet."
M. Desmalions put the two apples side by side.
And those who crowded round him, anxiously looking on, all uttered one exclamation.
The two marks of teeth were identical.
Identical! Certainly, before declaring the identity of every detail, the absolute analogy of the marks of each tooth, they must wait for the results of the expert's report. But there was one thing which there was no mistaking and that was the complete similarity of the two curves.
In either fruit the rounded arch was bent according to the same inflection. The two semicircles could have fitted one into the other, both very narrow, both a little long-shaped and oval and of a restricted radius which was the very character of the jaw.
The men did not speak a word. M. Desmalions raised his head. Mme. Fauville did not move, stood livid and mad with terror. But all the sentiments of terror, stupor and indignation that she might simulate with her mobile face and her immense gifts as an actress, did not prevail against the compelling proof that presented itself to every eye.
The two imprints were identical! The same teeth had bitten into both apples!
"Madame—" the Prefect of Police began.
"No, no," she cried, seized with a fit of fury, "no, it's not true…. This is all just a nightmare…. No, you are never going to arrest me? I in prison! Why, it's horrible!… What have I done? Oh, I swear that you are mistaken—"
She took her head between her hands.
"Oh, my brain is throbbing as if it would burst! What does all this mean? I have done no wrong…. I knew nothing. It was you who told me this morning…. Could I have suspected? My poor husband … and that dear Edmond who loved me … and whom I loved! Why should I have killed them? Tell me that! Why don't you answer?" she demanded. "People don't commit murder without a motive…. Well?… Well?… Answer me, can't you?"
And once more convulsed with anger, standing in an aggressive attitude, with her clenched hands outstretched at the group of magistrates, she screamed:
"You're no better than butchers … you have no right to torture a woman like this…. Oh, how horrible! To accuse me … to arrest me … for nothing! … Oh, it's abominable! … What butchers you all are! … And it's you in particular," addressing Perenna, "it's you—yes, I know—it's you who are the enemy.
"Oh, I understand! You had your reasons, you were here last night…. Then why don't they arrest you? Why not you, as you were here and I was not and know nothing, absolutely nothing of what happened…. Why isn't it you?"
The last words were pronounced in a hardly intelligible fashion. She had no strength left. She had to sit down, with her head bent over her knees, and she wept once more, abundantly.
Perenna went up to her and, raising her forehead and uncovering the tear-stained face, said:
"The imprints of teeth in both apples are absolutely identical. There is therefore no doubt whatever but that the first comes from you as well as the second."
"No!" she said.
"Yes," he affirmed. "That is a fact which it is materially impossible to deny. But the first impression may have been left by you before last night, that is to say, you may have bitten that apple yesterday, for instance—"
She stammered:
"Do you think so? Yes, perhaps, I seem to remember—yesterday morning—"
But the Prefect of Police interrupted her.
"It is useless, Madame; I have just questioned your servant, Silvestre. He bought the fruit himself at eight o'clock last evening. When M. Fauville went to bed, there were four apples in the dish. At eight o'clock this morning there were only three. Therefore the one found in the garden is incontestably the fourth; and this fourth apple was marked last night. And the mark is the mark of your teeth."
She stammered:
"It was not I … it was not I … that mark is not mine."
"But—"
"That mark is not mine…. I swear it as I hope to be saved…. And I also swear that I shall die, yes, die…. I prefer death to prison…. I shall kill myself…. I shall kill myself—"
Her eyes were staring before her. She stiffened her muscles and made a supreme effort to rise from her chair. But, once on her feet, she tottered and fell fainting on the floor.
While she was being seen to, Mazeroux beckoned to Don Luis and whispered:
"Clear out, Chief."
"Ah, so the orders are revoked? I'm free?"
"Chief, take a look at the beggar who came in ten minutes ago and who's talking to the Prefect. Do you know him?"
"Hang it all!" said Perenna, after glancing at a large red-faced man who did not take his eyes off him. "Hang it, it's Weber, the deputy chief!"
"And he's recognized you, Chief! He recognized Lupin at first sight. There's no fake that he can't see through. He's got the knack of it. Well, Chief, just think of all the tricks you've played on him and ask yourself if he'll stick at anything to have his revenge!"
"And