And, now, the
      murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about the
      loins. He would have used this, but for its volution about the
      corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the reflection that
      it had not been ‘torn off’ from the garment. It was easier to
      tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it fast
      about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the
      river. That this ‘bandage,’ only attainable with trouble and
      delay, and but imperfectly answering its purpose—that this
      bandage was employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for
      its employment sprang from circumstances arising at a period when
      the handkerchief was no longer attainable—that is to say,
      arising, as we have imagined, after quitting the thicket, (if the
      thicket it was), and on the road between the thicket and the
      river. “But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc (!) points
      especially to the presence of a gang, in the vicinity of the
      thicket, at or about the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I
      doubt if there were not a dozen gangs, such as described by
      Madame Deluc, in and about the vicinity of the Barrière du Roule
      at or about the period of this tragedy. But the gang which has
      drawn upon itself the pointed animadversion, although the
      somewhat tardy and very suspicious evidence of Madame Deluc, is
      the only gang which is represented by that honest and scrupulous
      old lady as having eaten her cakes and swallowed her brandy,
      without putting themselves to the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc illæ iræ? “But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? ‘A gang of
      miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and
      drank without making payment, followed in the route of the young
      man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the
      river as if in great haste.’

      “Now this ‘great haste’ very possibly seemed greater haste in the
      eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly
      upon her violated cakes and ale—cakes and ale for which she might
      still have entertained a faint hope of compensation. Why,
      otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she make a point of
      the haste? It is no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of
      blackguards should make haste to get home, when a wide river is
      to be crossed in small boats, when storm impends, and when night
      approaches. “I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was only
      about dusk that the indecent haste of these ‘miscreants’ offended
      the sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told that it was upon
      this very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son,
      ‘heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.’ And
      in what words does Madame Deluc designate the period of the
      evening at which these screams were heard? ‘It was soon after
      dark,’ she says. But ‘soon after dark,’ is, at least, dark; and
      ‘about dusk’ is as certainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly
      clear that the gang quitted the Barrière du Roule prior to the
      screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the
      many reports of the evidence, the relative expressions in
      question are distinctly and invariably employed just as I have
      employed them in this conversation with yourself, no notice
      whatever of the gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any
      of the public journals, or by any of the myrmidons of police. “I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang; but this
      one has, to my own understanding at least, a weight altogether
      irresistible. Under the circumstances of large reward offered,
      and full pardon to any king’s evidence, it is not to be imagined,
      for a moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of
      any body of men, would not long ago have betrayed his
      accomplices. Each one of a gang so placed, is not so much greedy
      of reward, or anxious for escape, as fearful of betrayal. He
      betrays eagerly and early that he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not been divulged, is the very best of proof
      that it is, in fact, a secret. The horrors of this dark deed are
      known only to one, or two, living human beings, and to God. “Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our long
      analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal accident
      under the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder perpetrated, in
      the thicket at the Barrière du Roule, by a lover, or at least by
      an intimate and secret associate of the deceased. This associate
      is of swarthy complexion. This complexion, the ‘hitch’ in the
      bandage, and the ‘sailor’s knot,’ with which the bonnet-ribbon is
      tied, point to a seaman. His companionship with the deceased, a
      gay, but not an abject young girl, designates him as above the
      grade of the common sailor. Here the well written and urgent
      communications to the journals are much in the way of
      corroboration. The circumstance of the first elopement, as
      mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends to blend the idea of this seaman
      with that of the ‘naval officer’ who is first known to have led
      the unfortunate into crime. “And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continued
      absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observe
      that the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it was no
      common swarthiness which constituted the sole point of
      remembrance, both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is
      this man absent? Was he murdered by the gang? If so, why are
      there only traces of the assassinated girl? The scene of the two
      outrages will naturally be supposed identical. And where is his
      corpse? The assassins would most probably have disposed of both
      in the same way. But it may be said that this man lives, and is
      deterred from making himself known, through dread of being
      charged with the murder. This consideration might be supposed to
      operate upon him now—at this late period—since it has been given
      in evidence that he was seen with Marie—but it would have had no
      force at the period of the deed. The first impulse of an innocent
      man would have been to announce the outrage, and to aid in
      identifying the ruffians. This policy would have suggested. He
      had been seen with the girl. He had crossed the river with her in
      an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would have
      appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of
      relieving himself from suspicion.