her.

It was time, for the next moment the commissary and Monsieur Fauvel
entered. They had visited the main entrance and waiting-room, and had
heard nothing of what had passed in the study.

But Fanferlot had heard for them.

This excellent bloodhound had not lost sight of the cashier. He said to
himself, "Now that my young gentleman believes himself to be alone,
his face will betray him. I shall detect a smile or a wink that will
enlighten me."

Leaving M. Fauvel and the commissary to pursue their investigations, he
posted himself to watch. He saw the door open, and Madeleine appear upon
the threshold; he lost not a single word or gesture of the rapid scene
which had passed.

It mattered little that every word of this scene was an enigma. M.
Fanferlot was skilful enough to complete the sentences he did not
understand.

As yet he only had a suspicion; but a mere suspicion is better than
nothing; it is a point to start from. So prompt was he in building a
plan upon the slightest incident that he thought he saw in the past of
these people, who were utter strangers to him, glimpses of a domestic
drama.

If the commissary of police is a sceptic, the detective has faith; he
believes in evil.