or shut, I know not which, with great violence and haste."

"Why so?" asked the commissary, becoming attentive.

"Look, monsieur, at this scratch near the lock."

The commissary stooped down, and carefully examined the safe; he saw
a light scratch several inches long that had removed the outer coat of
varnish.

"I see the scratch," said he, "but what does that prove?"

"Oh, nothing at all!" said Fanferlot. "I just now told you it was of no
importance."

Fanferlot said this, but it was not his real opinion.

This scratch, undeniably fresh, had for him a signification that escaped
the others. He said to himself, "This confirms my suspicions. If the
cashier had stolen millions, there was no occasion for his being in
a hurry; whereas the banker, creeping down in the dead of night with
cat-like footsteps, for fear of awakening the boy in the ante-room,
in order to rifle his own money-safe, had every reason to tremble, to
hurry, to hastily withdraw the key, which, slipping along the lock,
scratched off the varnish."

Resolved to unravel by himself the tangled thread of this mystery, the
detective determined to keep his conjectures to himself; for the same
reason he was silent as to the interview which he had overheard between
Madeleine and Prosper.