"I understand the case now," said he to himself. "This man loves the
young lady, who is really very pretty; and, as he is quite handsome,
I suppose his love is reciprocated. This love-affair vexes the banker,
who, not knowing how to get rid of the importunate lover by fair means,
has to resort to foul, and plans this imaginary robbery, which is very
ingenious."

Thus to M. Fanferlot's mind, the banker had simply robbed himself, and
the innocent cashier was the victim of an odious machination.

But this conviction was, at present, of little service to Prosper.

Fanferlot, the ambitious, who had determined to obtain renown in his
profession, decided to keep his conjectures to himself.

"I will let the others go their way, and I'll go mine," he said.
"When, by dint of close watching and patient investigation I shall have
collected proof sufficient to insure certain conviction, I will unmask
the scoundrel."

He was radiant. He had at last found the crime, so long looked for,
which would make him celebrated. Nothing was wanting, neither the odious
circumstances, nor the mystery, nor even the romantic and sentimental
element represented by Prosper and Madeleine.

Success seemed difficult, almost impossible; but Fanferlot, the
Squirrel, had great confidence in his own genius for investigation.

Meanwhile, the search upstairs completed, M. Fauvel and the commissary