Once again Gabrielle's statement tallied with his own
reconstruction of the crime and the manner of its perpetration. If the
murder had been committed in his office the second bullet would have gone
through the window instead of imbedding itself in the wall, and the judge
would have fallen in the spot where she indicated.
"And where was the writing-desk from where you got your letters?" was
Crewe's next question.
"It was over there--almost by that--your little bookcase there."
She pointed to a small oaken bookstand which stood slightly in advance
of the more imposing shelves in which reposed the portentous volumes
of newspaper clippings and photographs which constituted Crewe's
"Rogues' Library."
"Now we come to the letters. You took them from the secret drawer in the
desk. Why did you remove them?"
"Because I would not have the police agents find them, for then they
would want to know so much."
"And what did you do with them?"
"Monsieur Crewe, I destroyed them. When I got home I burnt them all--I
was so frightened."
"You mean you were frightened to keep them in your possession after the
judge was killed?"
"Yes. What place had I to keep them safe from prying eyes? So, monsieur,
I burnt them all--one by one--and the charred fragments I kept and took
into the Park next day, where I scattered them unobserved.
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