He was literally thunderstruck.
In spite of his anger, M.Daburon could not help smiling; and even Constant gave a grin, which on his lips was equivalent to a paroxysm of laughter.
"Not an _alibi_, nothing ?" murmured the old fellow.

"No explanations?
The idea! It is inconceivable! Not an _alibi_?
We must then be mistaken: he cannot be the criminal.

That is certain!" The investigating magistrate felt that the old amateur must have been waiting the result of the examination at the wine shop round the corner, or else that he had gone mad.
"Unfortunately," said he, "we are not mistaken.

It is but too clearly shown that M.de Commarin is the murderer.

However, if you like, you can ask Constant for his report of the examination, and read it over while I put these papers in order." "Very well," said the old fellow with feverish anxiety.
He sat down in Constant's chair, and, leaning his elbows on the table, thrusting his hands in his hair, he in less than no time read the report through.