Williams, however, was the better dandy; he put on a
dress-coat and patent-leather pumps because the dignity of his work
demanded a fitting costume. And Bruneau wore the grey suit not without
a hope of disguise. Yet you like to think that the Abbe looked
complacently upon his valise, and had forethought for the cut of his
professional coat; and if he be not in the first flight of artistry,
remember his provincial upbringing, and furnish the proper excuse.
Meanwhile the scandal of the murdered widow passed into forgetfulness,
and the Abbe was still impoverished. Already he had robbed his vicar,
and the suspicion of the Abbe Fricot led on to the final and the
detected crime. Now Fricot had noted the loss of money and of bonds, and
though he refrained from exposure he had confessed to a knowledge of
the criminal. M. Bruneau was naturally sensitive to suspicion, and he
determined upon the immediate removal of this danger to his peace. On
January 2, 1894, M. Fricot returned to supper after administering the
extreme unction to a parishioner. While the meal was preparing, he
went into his garden in sabots and bareheaded, and never again was seen
alive. The supper cooled, the vicar was still absent; the murderer,
hungry with his toil, ate not only his own, but his victim's share of
the food, grimly hinting that Fricot would not come back. Suicide was
dreamed of, murder hinted; up and down the village was the search made,
and none was more zealous than the distressed curate.
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