windows were four fine canvases, in contemporary frames,
representing mythological scenes. These were the famous pictures by
Rubens which had been left to the Comte de Gesvres, together with
the Flemish tapestries, by his maternal uncle, the Marques de
Bobadilla, a Spanish grandee.

M. Filleul remarked:

"If the motive of the crime was theft, this drawing room, at any
rate, was not the object of it."

"You can't tell!" said the deputy, who spoke little, but who, when
he did, invariably opposed the magistrate's views.

"Why, my dear sir, the first thought of a burglar would be to carry
off those pictures and tapestries, which are universally renowned."

"Perhaps there was no time."

"We shall see."

At that moment, the Comte de Gesvres entered, accompanied by the
doctor. The count, who did not seem to feel the effects of the
attack to which he had been subjected, welcomed the two officials.
Then he opened the door of the boudoir.

This room, which no one had been allowed to enter since the
discovery of the crime, differed from the drawing room inasmuch as
it presented a scene of the greatest disorder. Two chairs were
overturned, one of the tables smashed to pieces and several objects-