"In the first place," said he, at last, in a tone of affected modesty,
"robbery has had nothing to do with the crime that occupies our
attention."

"Oh! of course not!" muttered Gevrol.

"I shall prove it," continued old Tabaret, "by the evidence. By-and-by
I shall offer my humble opinion as to the real motive. In the second
place, the assassin arrived here before half-past nine; that is to
say, before the rain fell. No more than M. Gevrol have I been able to
discover traces of muddy footsteps; but under the table, on the spot
where his feet rested, I find dust. We are thus assured of the hour.
The widow did not in the least expect her visitor. She had commenced
undressing, and was winding up her cuckoo clock when he knocked."

"These are absolute details!" cried the commissary.

"But easily established," replied the amateur. "You see this cuckoo
clock above the secretary; it is one of those which run fourteen or
fifteen hours at most, for I have examined it. Now it is more than
probable, it is certain, that the widow wound it up every evening before
going to bed. How, then, is it that the clock has stopped at five?
Because she must have touched it. As she was drawing the chain, the
assassin knocked. In proof, I show this chair standing under the clock,
and on the seat a very plain foot-mark. Now look at the dress of the
victim; the body of it is off. In order to open the door more quickly,
she did not wait to put it on again, but hastily threw this old shawl
over her shoulders."