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"Monsieur," he said, "I am the head clerk of the House of Thomson and French, of Rome. For the past ten years we have had dealings with Morrel and Son of Marseille. We have some hundred thousand francs invested in the business, and we are somewhat uneasy, since the company is said to be on the brink of ruin. I have therefore arrived directly from Rome to ask you for information about its affairs."

The day after the one on which the scene we have just described took place on the road between Bellegarde and Beaucaire, a man of between thirty and thirty-two years of age, dressed in a cornflower-blue frock-coat, nankeen trousers and a white waistcoat, whose manner and accent both proclaimed him to be British, presented himself at the house of the mayor of Marseille.

"I do indeed know, Monsieur," the mayor replied, "that for the past four or five years Monsieur Morrel seems to have been dogged by misfortune. He lost four or five ships in succession and suffered from three or four bankruptcies. But, even though I myself am his creditor for around ten thousand francs, it is not appropriate for me to give you any information about his financial affairs. Ask me, as mayor, what I think of Monsieur Morrel and I shall tell you that he is a man who is honest to the point of inflexibility and that he has up to now fulfilled all his responsibilities with the utmost nicety. That is all I can tell you, Monsieur. If you wish to know anything further, you must ask Monsieur de Boville, inspector of prisons, residing at number fifteen, Rue de Noailles. I believe he has two hundred thousand francs invested in Monsieur Morrel's firm and, if there is really anything to be feared, as the amount is far greater than mine, you will probably find him better informed than I am about the matter."

M. de Boville was in his study. Seeing him, the Englishman started, as if with surprise, suggesting that this was not the first time they had met. As for M. de Boville, he was so desperate that it was obvious that his mind, entirely taken up with its immediate concerns, had no room left for either his memory or his imagination to wander back into the past.

The Englishman, with the phlegm characteristic of his race, asked him more or less the same question and in the same terms as he had just put to the mayor of Marseille.

The Englishman appeared to appreciate the delicacy of this reply. He bowed and left, making his way towards the street in question with that stride which is peculiar to the natives of Great Britain.

"Alas, Monsieur!" M. de Boville exclaimed. "Your fears are unfortunately quite justified and you see before you a desperate man. I had two hundred thousand francs invested in the house of Morrel: that money was my daughter's dowry; she was to be married in a fortnight. It was to be reimbursed, the first hundred thousand on the fifteenth of this month, the remainder on the fifteenth of next month. I advised Monsieur Morrel that I wished to have the money paid in due time; and now he has just been here, Monsieur, barely half an hour ago, to tell me that if his ship the Pharaon does not return between now and the fifteenth, he will be unable to reimburse me."

A look of joy suffused M. de Boville's face, but he made an effort and said: "I must warn you, Monsieur, that in all probability you will not recover six per cent of the amount."

The Englishman seemed to reflect for a moment, then said: "So you are anxious about the repayment of this debt?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Very well, I shall buy it from you."

"And how will you pay?"

"In cash." The Englishman took a sheaf of banknotes out of his pocket, probably amounting to twice the sum that M. de Boville was afraid of losing.

"But at a huge discount, I don't doubt?"

"That does not concern me," the Englishman replied. "It concerns the House of Thomson and French; I am only acting for them. Perhaps they wish to hasten the ruin of a rival firm. All that I do know, Monsieur, is that I am prepared to give you this sum in exchange for the transfer of the debt; all I shall want is a brokerage fee."

"No, for two hundred thousand francs. Our company," the Englishman said with a laugh, "does not do that kind of business."

"More than that: I consider it lost."

"Why not rather say that it sounds like bankruptcy!" M. de Boville cried in despair.

"You?"

"But this sounds very like procrastination," said the Englishman.

"You are the inspector of prisons?"

"Oh, yes! I remember very well!" M. de Boville said. "He was mad."

"There is a dossier on each prisoner."

"So it was said."

"Monsieur," said the Englishman with a laugh, "I am like my firm, which does not do that kind of business. No, my fee is of quite a different kind."

"Well, Monsieur, I was brought up in Rome by a poor devil of an abbé who suddenly disappeared. I later learned that he was held in the Château d"If. I should like to have some information about his death."

"And notes concerning the prisoners are attached to these registers?"

"Quite probably. What was the nature of his madness?"

"Naturally."

"What was his name?"

"Oh, there's no doubt about it."

"You hold the registers of admissions and discharges?"

"I have been for fourteen years."

"Abbé Faria."

"Tell me. I am listening."

"What, Monsieur! This is too scrupulous!" M. de Boville exclaimed. "There is usually a commission of one and a half per cent. Do you want two? Or three? Do you want five per cent? Or more? Tell me."

"The poor devil! And he died?"

"He claimed to have knowledge of some huge treasure and would offer vast sums to the government if it would set him free."

"Yes, Monsieur, some five or six months ago, last February."

"You have an excellent memory, Monsieur, to remember the date so precisely."

"Can you tell me what that was?" the Englishman asked, with a look of curiosity that a close observer would have been surprised to see on his normally impassive features.

"I recall it because something strange happened at the same time as the poor man's death."

"Indeed?" said the Englishman.

"Why, yes, I can. The abbé's cell was some forty-five or fifty feet approximately from that of a former Bonapartist agent, one of those who did most to assist in the usurper's return in 1815, a very resolute and dangerous fellow."

"Yes," said M. de Boville. "I even had occasion to see the man in 1816 or 1817, and you could only enter his cell with a squad of soldiers. The man made a deep impression on me; I shall never forget his face."

"This dangerous man was called…"

"That was a risky plan, arguing some courage," the Englishman said.

The Englishman gave a hint of a smile. "So you say that the two cells…" he continued.

"Edmond Dantès. Yes, Monsieur, it appears that this Edmond Dantès had obtained some tools, or made them for himself, because they found a passageway through which the two prisoners used to communicate."

"Were about fifty feet apart, but it seems that this Edmond Dantès…"

"The passage was no doubt made with a view to escape?"

"I understand. That must have put an end to the plans for escape."

"Precisely. But, unfortunately for the prisoners, Abbé Faria had a seizure and died."

"As far as the dead man was concerned, yes," M. de Boville replied. "But not for the one who was left alive. On the contrary, this Dantès saw the means to hasten his escape. No doubt he thought that prisoners who die in the Château d'If are buried in an ordinary cemetery. He moved the dead man into his own cell, took his place in the shroud into which he had been sewn and waited for the body to be buried."

"Well, of course they attached the weight to his legs and threw him into the sea."

"Really?" the Englishman exclaimed.

"It would have been difficult."

"The Château d'If has no cemetery. The dead are simply thrown into the sea after a thirty-six-pound cannonball has been tied to their legs."

"How was that?"

"So can I," said the Englishman, starting to laugh in his turn, but in the way that the English laugh, through clenched teeth. "I suppose that means," he went on, being the first to regain his composure, "that he was drowned."

"Which means?" said the Englishman, as if he was finding it hard to follow.

"No."

"What? Don't you understand?"

"Yes, Monsieur," the inspector went on. "You can just imagine the fugitive's amazement when he felt himself falling from the top of the cliff. I should like to have seen his face at that moment."

"No matter!" said M. de Boville, in much better humour, now that he was certain of recovering his two hundred thousand francs. "No matter! I can still imagine it!" And he burst out laughing.

"Ah, as I told you, Monsieur, he was a very dangerous fellow; but, fortunately, he himself relieved the government of any fears it may have had on his account."

"Oh, heavens yes, no doubt about it. They will have a certificate whenever they want."

"So be it," said the Englishman. "But to return to the registers…"

"I should very much like to."

"It is intriguing. So, Monsieur, you want to see everything concerning your poor abbé; he was as mild as a lamb."

"Yes. Well and truly."

"With the result that the prison governor got rid of the maniac and the madman simultaneously?"

"Yes, certainly, a death certificate. You understand, Dantès' relatives, if he has any, might wish to know for certain whether he was alive or dead."

"Indeed. This story distracted us. Forgive me."

"And now they can rest assured if they have anything to inherit from him. He is definitely dead?"

"I imagine some sort of report was drawn up about it?"

"Come into my study and I shall show it to you."

"Just as you say."

"For what? For the story? Not at all, it intrigued me."

They both went into M. de Boville's study, where everything was perfectly in order: each register at its number, each dossier in its box. The inspector asked the Englishman to sit down in the armchair and put in front of him the register and dossier relating to the Château d'If, allowing him to peruse it at his leisure, while he sat in a corner and read the newspaper.

The Englishman had no difficulty finding the dossier concerning Abbé Faria, but it appeared that he had been greatly interested in the story that M. de Boville had told him because, after studying these first papers, he continued to peruse the file until he came to the bundle concerning Edmond Dantès. Here, he found everything in its place: the denunciation, the interrogation, M. Morrel's petition and M. de Villefort's annotation. He quietly folded the denunciation and put it in his pocket; read the interrogation and observed that it did not mention the name of Noirtier; and read through the petition dated 10 April 1815, in which Morrel, following the advice of the deputy prosecutor, had exaggerated the services rendered by Dantès to the imperial cause -- with the best of intentions, since Napoleon was then still on the throne -- all of which was confirmed by Villefort's signature. At this, he understood everything. Under the Second Restoration, this petition to Napoleon, which Villefort had kept, became a deadly weapon in the hands of the royal prosecutor. Thus he was not surprised, continuing through the register, to find these sentences bracketed together opposite his name:

Fanatical Bonapartist. Played an active part in the return from Elba.

Beneath these lines, in different handwriting, he read: "In view of the above note, no action."

To be kept in solitary confinement, under the closest supervision.

EDMOND DANTES:

As we mentioned, the inspector had placed himself some distance away and was reading Le Drapeau Blanc, so as not to inconvenience Abbé Faria's former pupil. This is why he did not see the Englishman fold and pocket the denunciation that Danglars had written in the arbour at La Réserve, which bore the stamp of the Marseille post office for the evening collection at 6 o'clock on 27 February.

However, by comparing the writing in the brackets with that on the certificate under M. Morrel's petition, he felt certain that both were in the same hand, and that the hand was Villefort's.

As for the note appended to the note, the Englishman realized that it must have been placed there by an inspector who had taken a passing interest in Dantès' case, but who would have been unable to take any further steps in his favour because of the information that we have just quoted.

He got up so that M. de Boville could take his place at the desk, where he sat down and proceeded, as quickly and simply as possible, to draw up the necessary paper, while the Englishman was counting the banknotes on to the edge of the filing cabinet.

We have to admit, on the other hand, that, even if he had seen this, he attached too little importance to this scrap of paper and too much to his two hundred thousand francs to protest at what the Englishman was doing, however improper it might be.

"Thank you," the latter said, slamming the register shut. "I have what I need. Now I must keep my side of the bargain. Prepare a transfer of the money you are owed, in which you acknowledge that you have received the full sum, and I shall count it out."