"Upon not one single thing."
There was a moment of stupefaction. The commissary of police had arrived: and, behind him, inspite of the constables keeping the door, a troop of journalists, and the hotel staff had forced their way in and were standing in the entrance-lobby.
Notorious though the old fellow was for his bluntness—a bluntness which was not without a certain discourtesy and which had already procured him an occasional reprimand in high quarters—the abruptness of this reply took every one aback. And M. Formerie in particular appeared utterly nonplussed:
"Still," he said, "I can see nothing that isn't quite simple. Lupin is the thief. . . ."
"Why did he commit the murder?" M. Lenormand flung at him.
"In order to commit the theft."
"I beg your pardon; the witnesses' story prov
