It was
on account of this journey that I left his company--I detest the ocean."
A moment previously Lecoq's anxiety had been so intense that his
heart almost stopped beating; on hearing these last words, however,
he regained all his self-possession. As for the magistrate, he merely
greeted the murderer's reply with a brief but significant ejaculation.
"When I say that he is on his way," resumed the prisoner, "I may be
mistaken. He may not have started yet, though he had certainly made all
his arrangements before we separated."
"What ship was he to sail by?"
"He did not tell me."
"Where was he when you left him?"
"At Leipsic."
"When was this?"
"Last Wednesday."
M. Segmuller shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "So you say you were
in Leipsic on Wednesday? How long have you been in Paris?"
"Since Sunday afternoon, at four o'clock."
"It will be necessary to prove that."
Judging by the murderer's contracted brow it might be conjectured
that he was making a strenuous effort to remember something. He cast
questioning glances first toward the ceiling and then toward the floor,
scratching his head and tapping his foot in evident perplexity. "How can
I prove it--how?" he murmured.
The magistrate did not appear disposed to wait. "Let me assist you,"
said he. "The people at the inn where you boarded while in Leipsic must
remember you."
"We did not stop at an inn."
"Where did you eat and sleep, then?"
"In M. Simpson's large traveling-carriage; it had been sold, but he was
not to give it up until he reached the port he was to sail from.
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