He fell heavily into a chair, exclaiming,--"It is enough to drive me mad!" "Do you admit," insisted the magistrate, whose gaze had become firmly fixed upon the prisoner, "do you admit that Widow Lerouge could only have been stabbed by you ?" "I admit," protested Albert, "that I am the victim of one of those terrible fatalities which make men doubt the evidence of their reason.

I am innocent." "Then tell me where you passed Tuesday evening." "Ah, sir!" cried the prisoner, "I should have to--" But, restraining himself, he added in a faint voice, "I have made the only answer that I can make." M.Daburon rose, having now reached his grand stroke.
"It is, then, my duty," said he, with a shade of irony, "to supply your failure of memory.

I am going to remind you of where you went and what you did.

On Tuesday evening at eight o'clock, after having obtained from the wine you drank, the dreadful energy you needed, you left your home.
At thirty-five minutes past eight, you took the train at the St.Lazare station.

At nine o'clock, you alighted at the station at Rueil." And, not disdaining to employ Tabaret's ideas, the investigating magistrate repeated nearly word for word the tirade improvised the night before by the amateur detective.
He had every reason, while speaking, to admire the old fellow's penetration.