"A strange man, Sauvresy," said he.
It was Sauvresy's extraordinary idea of vengeance which struck him in
the story. He admired his "good playing" in a drama in which he knew he
was going to yield up his life.
"I don't know many people," pursued the detective, "capable of so
fearful a firmness. To let himself be poisoned so slowly and gently by
his wife! Brrr! It makes a man shiver all over!"
"He knew how to avenge himself," muttered the doctor.
"Yes," answered M. Plantat, "yes, Doctor; he knew how to avenge himself,
and more terribly than he supposed, or than you can imagine."
The detective rose from his seat. He had remained motionless, glued to
his chair for more than three hours, and his legs were benumbed.
"For my part," said he, "I can very well conceive what an infernal
existence the murderers began to suffer the day after their victim's
death. You have depicted them, Monsieur Plantat, with the hand of a
master. I know them as well after your description as if I had studied
them face to face for ten years."
He spoke deliberately, and watched for the effect of what he said in M.
Plantat's countenance.
"Where on earth did this old fellow get all these details?" he asked
himself. "Did he write this narrative, and if not, who did? How was it,
if he had all this information, that he has said nothing?"