The Teeth of the Tiger

by Maurice Leblanc

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE MAN WITH THE EBONY WALKING-STICK

  A group consisting of Deputy Chief Detective Weber, Chief InspectorAncenis, Sergeant Mazeroux, three inspectors, and the Neuilly commissaryof police stood outside the gate of No. 8 Boulevard Richard-Wallace.

  Mazeroux was watching the Avenue de Madrid, by which Don Luis would haveto come, and began to wonder what had happened; for half an hour hadpassed since they telephoned to each other, and Mazeroux could find nofurther pretext for delaying the work.

  "It's time to make a move," said Weber. "The housekeeper is makingsignals to us from the window: the joker's dressing."

  "Why not nab him when he comes out?" objected Mazeroux. "We shall capturehim in a moment."

  "And if he cuts off by another outlet which we don't know of?" said thedeputy chief. "You have to be careful with these beggars. No, let's beardhim in his den. It's more certain."

  "Still--"

  "What's the matter with you, Mazeroux?" asked the deputy chief, takinghim on one side. "Don't you see that our men are getting restive? They'reafraid of this sportsman. There's only one way, which is to set them onhim as if he were a wild beast. Besides, the business must be finished bythe time the Prefect comes,"

  "Is he coming?"

  "Yes. He wants to see things for himself. The whole affair interests himenormously. So, forward! Are you ready, men? I'm going to ring."

  The bell sounded; and the housekeeper at once came and half opened thegate.

  Although the orders were to observe great quiet, so as not to alarm theenemy too soon, the fear which he inspired was so intense that therewas a general rush; and all the detectives crowded into the courtyard,ready for the fight. But a window opened and some one cried from thesecond floor:

  "What's happening?"

  The deputy chief did not reply. Two detectives, the chief inspector, thecommissary, and himself entered the house, while the others remained inthe courtyard and made any attempt at flight impossible.

  The meeting took place on the first floor. The man had come down, fullydressed, with his hat on his head; and the deputy chief roared:

  "Stop! Hands up! Are you Hubert Lautier?"

  The man seemed disconcerted. Five revolvers were levelled at him. And yetno sign of fear showed in his face; and he simply said:

  "What do you want, Monsieur? What are you here for?"

  "We are here in the name of the law, with a warrant for your arrest."

  "A warrant for my arrest?"

  "A warrant for the arrest of Hubert Lautier, residing at 8 BoulevardRichard-Wallace."

  "But it's absurd!" said the man. "It's incredible! What does it mean?What for?"

  They took him by both arms, without his offering the least resistance,pushed him into a fairly large room containing no furniture but threerush-bottomed chairs, an armchair, and a table covered with big books.

  "There," said the deputy chief. "Don't stir. If you attempt to move, somuch the worse for you."

  The man made no protest. While the two detectives held him by thecollar, he seemed to be reflecting, as though he were trying tounderstand the secret causes of an arrest for which he was totallyunprepared. He had an intelligent face, a reddish-brown beard, and apair of blue-gray eyes which now and again showed a certain hardness ofexpression behind his glasses. His broad shoulders and powerful neckpointed to physical strength.

  "Shall we tie his wrists?" Mazeroux asked the deputy chief.

  "One second. The Prefect's coming; I can hear him. Have you searched theman's pockets? Any weapons?"

  "No."

  "No flask, no phial? Nothing suspicious?"

  "No, nothing."

  M. Desmalions arrived and, while watching the prisoner's face, talkedin a low voice with the deputy chief and received the particulars ofthe arrest.

  "This is good business," he said. "We wanted this. Now that bothaccomplices are in custody, they will have to speak; and everything willbe cleared up. So there was no resistance?"

  "None at all, Monsieur le Prefet."

  "No matter, we will remain on our guard."

  The prisoner had not uttered a word, but still wore a thoughtful look, asthough trying to understand the inexplicable events of the last fewminutes. Nevertheless, when he realized that the newcomer was none otherthan the Prefect of Police, he raised his head and looked at M.Desmalions, who asked him:

  "It is unnecessary to tell you the cause of your arrest, I presume?"

  He replied, in a deferential tone:

  "Excuse me, Monsieur le Prefet, but I must ask you, on the contrary, toinform me. I have not the least idea of the reason. Your detectives havemade a grave mistake which a word, no doubt, will be enough to set right.That word I wish for, I insist upon--"

  The Prefect shrugged his shoulders and said:

  "You are suspected of taking part in the murder of Fauville, the civilengineer, and his son Edmond."

  "Is Hippolyte dead?"

  The cry was spontaneous, almost unconscious; a bewildered cry of dismayfrom a man moved to the depths of his being. And his dismay was supremelystrange, his question, trying to make them believe in his ignorance,supremely unexpected.

  "Is Hippolyte dead?"

  He repeated the question in a hoarse voice, trembling all over as hespoke.

  "Is Hippolyte dead? What are you saying? Is it possible that he can bedead? And how? Murdered? Edmond, too?"

  The Prefect once more shrugged his shoulders.

  "The mere fact of your calling M. Fauville by his Christian name showsthat you knew him intimately. And, even if you were not concerned in hismurder, it has been mentioned often enough in the newspapers during thelast fortnight for you to know of it."

  "I never read a newspaper, Monsieur le Prefet."

  "What! You mean to tell me--?"

  "It may sound improbable, but it is quite true. I lead an industriouslife, occupying myself solely with scientific research, in view of apopular work which I am preparing, and I do not take the least part orthe least interest in outside things. I defy any one to prove that I haveread a newspaper for months and months past. And that is why I amentitled to say that I did not know of Hippolyte Fauville's murder."

  "Still, you knew M. Fauville."

  "I used to know him, but we quarrelled."

  "For what reason?"

  "Family affairs."

  "Family affairs! Were you related, then?"

  "Yes. Hippolyte was my cousin."

  "Your cousin! M. Fauville was your cousin! But ... but then ... Come, letus have the rights of the matter. M. Fauville and his wife were thechildren of two sisters, Elizabeth and Armande Roussel. Those two sistershad been brought up with a first cousin called Victor."

  "Yes, Victor Sauverand, whose grandfather was a Roussel. Victor Sauverandmarried abroad and had two sons. One of them died fifteen years ago; theother is myself."

  M. Desmalions gave a start. His excitement was manifest. If that man wastelling the truth, if he was really the son of that Victor whose recordthe police had not yet been able to trace, then, owing to this very fact,since M. Fauville and his son were dead and Mme. Fauville, so to speak,convicted of murder and forfeiting her rights, they had arrested thefinal heir to Cosmo Mornington. But why, in a moment of madness, had hevoluntarily brought this crushing indictment against himself?

  He continued:

  "My statements seem to surprise you, Monsieur le Prefet. Perhaps theythrow a light on the mistake of which I am a victim?"

  He expressed himself calmly, with great politeness and in a remarkablywell-bred voice; and he did not for a moment seem to suspect that hisrevelations, on the contrary, were justifying the measures takenagainst him.

  Without replying to the question, the Prefect of Police asked him:

  "So your real name is--"

  "Gaston Sauverand."

  "Why do you call yourself Hubert Lautier?"

  The man had a second of indecision which did not escape so clear-sightedan observer as
M. Desmalions. He swayed from side to side, his eyesflickered and he said:

  "That does not concern the police; it concerns no one but myself."

  M. Desmalions smiled:

  "That is a poor argument. Will you use the same when I ask you why youlive in hiding, why you left the Avenue du Roule, where you used to live,without leaving an address behind you, and why you receive your lettersat the post-office under initials?"

  "Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, those are matters of a private character, whichaffect only my conscience. You have no right to question me about them."

  "That is the exact reply which we are constantly receiving at everymoment from your accomplice."

  "My accomplice?"

  "Yes, Mme. Fauville."

  "Mme. Fauville!"

  Gaston Sauverand had uttered the same cry as when he heard of the deathof the engineer; and his stupefaction seemed even greater, combined as itwas with an anguish that distorted his features beyond recognition.

  "What?... What?... What do you say? Marie!... No, you don't mean it! It'snot true!"

  M. Desmalions considered it useless to reply, so absurd and childishwas this affectation of knowing nothing about the tragedy on theBoulevard Suchet.

  Gaston Sauverand, beside himself, with his eyes starting from hishead, muttered:

  "Is it true? Is Marie the victim of the same mistake as myself? Perhapsthey have arrested her? She, she in prison!"

  He raised his clenched fists in a threatening manner against all theunknown enemies by whom he was surrounded, against those who werepersecuting him, those who had murdered Hippolyte Fauville and deliveredMarie Fauville to the police.

  Mazeroux and Chief Inspector Ancenis took hold of him roughly. He made amovement of resistance, as though he intended to thrust back hisaggressors. But it was only momentary; and he sank into a chair andcovered his face with his hands:

  "What a mystery!" he stammered. "I don't understand! I don'tunderstand--"

  Weber, who had gone out a few minutes before, returned. M.Desmalions asked:

  "Is everything ready?"

  "Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, I have had the taxi brought up to the gatebeside your car."

  "How many of you are there?"

  "Eight. Two detectives have just arrived from the commissary's."

  "Have you searched the house?"

  "Yes. It's almost empty, however. There's nothing but the indispensablearticles of furniture and some bundles of papers in the bedroom."

  "Very well. Take him away and keep a sharp lookout."

  Gaston Sauverand walked off quietly between the deputy chief andMazeroux. He turned round in the doorway.

  "Monsieur le Prefet, as you are making a search, I entreat you to takecare of the papers on the table in my bedroom. They are notes that havecost me a great deal of labour in the small hours of the night. Also--"

  He hesitated, obviously embarrassed.

  "Well?"

  "Well, Monsieur le Prefet, I must tell you--something--"

  He was looking for his words and seemed to fear the consequences of themat the same time that he uttered them. But he suddenly made up his mind.

  "Monsieur le Prefet, there is in this house--somewhere--a packet ofletters which I value more than my life. It is possible that thoseletters, if misinterpreted, will furnish a weapon against me; but nomatter. The great thing is that they should be safe. You will see. Theyinclude documents of extreme importance. I entrust them to yourkeeping--to yours alone, Monsieur le Prefet."

  "Where are they?"

  "The hiding-place is easily found. All you have to do is to go to thegarret above my bedroom and press on a nail to the right of the window.It is an apparently useless nail, but it controls a hiding-place outside,under the slates of the roof, along the gutter."

  He moved away between the two men. The Prefect called them back.

  "One second. Mazeroux, go up to the garret and bring me the letters."

  Mazeroux went out and returned in a few minutes. He had been unable towork the spring.

  The Prefect ordered Chief Inspector Ancenis to go up with Mazeroux and totake the prisoner, who would show them how to open the hiding-place. Hehimself remained in the room with Weber, awaiting the result of thesearch, and began to read the titles of the volumes piled upon the table.

  They were scientific books, among which he noticed works on chemistry:"Organic Chemistry" and "Chemistry Considered in Its Relations withElectricity." They were all covered with notes in the margins. He wasturning over the pages of one of them, when he seemed to hear shouts.

  The Prefect rushed to the door, but had not crossed the threshold when apistol shot echoed down the staircase and there was a yell of pain.

  Immediately after came two more shots, accompanied by cries, the sound ofa struggle, and yet another shot.

  Tearing upstairs, four steps at a time, with an agility not to beexpected from a man of his build, the Prefect of Police, followed by thedeputy chief, covered the second flight and came to a third, which wasnarrower and steeper. When he reached the bend, a man's body, staggeringabove him, fell into his arms: it was Mazeroux, wounded.

  On the stairs lay another body, lifeless, that of Chief InspectorAncenis.

  Above them, in the frame of a small doorway, stood Gaston Sauverand, witha savage look on his face and his arm outstretched. He fired a fifth shotat random. Then, seeing the Prefect of Police, he took deliberate aim.

  The Prefect stared at that terrifying barrel levelled at his face andgave himself up for lost. But, at that exact second, a shot wasdischarged from behind him, Sauverand's weapon fell from his hand beforehe was able to fire, and the Prefect saw, as in a dream, a man, the manwho had saved his life, striding across the chief inspector's body,propping Mazeroux against the wall, and darting ahead, followed by thedetectives. He recognized the man: it was Don Luis Perenna.

  Don Luis stepped briskly into the garret where Sauverand had retreated,but had time only to catch sight of him standing on the window ledge andleaping into space from the third floor.

  "Has he jumped from there?" cried the Prefect, hastening up. "We shallnever capture him alive!"

  "Neither alive nor dead, Monsieur le Prefet. See, he's picking himselfup. There's a providence which looks after that sort. He's making for thegate. He's hardly limping."

  "But where are my men?"

  "Why, they're all on the staircase, in the house, brought here by theshots, seeing to the wounded--"

  "Oh, the demon!" muttered the Prefect. "He's played a masterly game!"

  Gaston Sauverand, in fact, was escaping unmolested.

  "Stop him! Stop him!" roared M. Desmalions.

  There were two motors standing beside the pavement, which is very wideat this spot: the Prefect's own car, and the cab which the deputy chiefhad provided for the prisoner. The two chauffeurs, sitting on theirseats, had noticed nothing of the fight. But they saw Gaston Sauverand'sleap into space; and the Prefect's chauffeur, on whose seat a certainnumber of incriminating articles had been placed, taking out of the heapthe first weapon that offered, the ebony walking-stick, bravely rushedat the fugitive.

  "Stop him! Stop him!" shouted M. Desmalions.

  The encounter took place at the exit from the courtyard. It did not lastlong. Sauverand flung himself upon his assailant, snatched the stick fromhim, and broke it across his face. Then, without dropping the handle, heran away, pursued by the other chauffeur and by three detectives who atlast appeared from the house. He had thirty yards' start of thedetectives, one of whom fired several shots at him without effect.

  When M. Desmalions and Weber went downstairs again, they found the chiefinspector lying on the bed in Gaston Sauverand's room on the secondfloor, gray in the face. He had been hit on the head and was dying. A fewminutes later he was dead.

  Sergeant Mazeroux, whose wound was only slight, said, while it was beingdressed, that Sauverand had taken the chief inspector and himself up tothe garret, and that, outside the door, he had dipped his hand q
uicklyinto an old satchel hanging on the wall among some servants' wornoutaprons and jackets. He drew out a revolver and fired point-blank at thechief inspector, who dropped like a log. When seized by Mazeroux, themurderer released himself and fired three bullets, the third of which hitthe sergeant in the shoulder.

  And so, in a fight in which the police had a band of experienceddetectives at their disposal, while the enemy, a prisoner, seemed topossess not the remotest chance of safety, this enemy, by a strategem ofunprecedented daring, had led two of his adversaries aside, disabledboth of them, drawn the others into the house and, finding the coastclear, escaped.

  M. Desmalions was white with anger and despair. He exclaimed:

  "He's tricked us! His letters, his hiding-place, the movable nail, wereall shams. Oh, the scoundrel!"

  He went down to the ground floor and into the courtyard. On the boulevardhe met one of the detectives who had given chase to the murderer and whowas returning quite out of breath.

  "Well?" he asked anxiously,

  "Monsieur le Prefet, he turned down the first street, where there was amotor waiting for him. The engine must have been working, for our manoutdistanced us at once."

  "But what about my car?"

  "You see, Monsieur le Prefet, by the time it was started--"

  "Was the motor that picked him up a hired one?"

  "Yes, a taxi."

  "Then we shall find it. The driver will come of his own accord when hehas seen the newspapers."

  Weber shook his head.

  "Unless the driver is himself a confederate, Monsieur le Prefet.Besides, even if we find the cab, aren't we bound to suppose that GastonSauverand will know how to front the scent? We shall have trouble,Monsieur le Prefet."

  "Yes," whispered Don Luis, who had been present at the firstinvestigation and who was left alone for a moment with Mazeroux. "Yes,you will have trouble, especially if you let the people you capture taketo their heels. Eh, Mazeroux, what did I tell you last night? But, still,what a scoundrel! And he's not alone, Alexandre. I'll answer for it thathe has accomplices--and not a hundred yards from my house--do youunderstand? From my house."

  After questioning Mazeroux upon Sauverand's attitude and the otherincidents of the arrest, Don Luis went back to the Place duPalais-Bourbon.

  * * * * *

  The inquiry which he had to make related to events that were certainlyquite as strange as those which he had just witnessed; and while thepart played by Gaston Sauverand in the pursuit of the Morningtoninheritance deserved all his attention, the behaviour of Mlle. Levasseurpuzzled him no less.

  He could not forget the cry of terror that escaped the girl while he wastelephoning to Mazeroux, nor the scared expression of her face. Now itwas impossible to attribute that cry and that expression to anythingother than the words which he had uttered in reply to Mazeroux:

  "What! Mme. Fauville tried to commit suicide!"

  The fact was certain; and the connection between the announcement of theattempt and Mlle. Levasseur's extreme emotion was too obvious for Perennanot to try to draw conclusions.

  He went straight to his study and at once examined the arch leading tothe telephone box. This arch, which was about six feet wide and very low,had no door, but merely a velvet hanging, which was nearly always drawnup, leaving the arch uncovered. Under the hanging, among the moldings ofthe cornice, was a button that had only to be pressed to bring down theiron curtain against which he had thrown himself two hours before.

  He worked the catch two or three times over, and his experimentsproved to him in the most explicit fashion that the mechanism was inperfect order and unable to act without outside intervention. Was hethen to conclude that the girl had wanted to kill him? But what couldbe her motive?

  He was on the point of ringing and sending for her, so as to receive theexplanation which he was resolved to demand from her. However, theminutes passed and he did not ring. He saw her through the window as shewalked slowly across the yard, her body swinging gracefully from herhips. A ray of sunshine lit up the gold of her hair.

  All the rest of the morning he lay on a sofa, smoking cigars. He was illat ease, dissatisfied with himself and with the course of events, not oneof which brought him the least glimmer of truth; in fact, all of themseemed to deepen the darkness in which he was battling. Eager to act, themoment he did so he encountered fresh obstacles that paralyzed his powersof action and left him in utter ignorance of the nature of hisadversaries.

  But, at twelve o'clock, just as he had rung for lunch, his butler enteredthe study with a tray in his hand, and exclaimed, with an agitation whichshowed that the household was aware of Don Luis's ambiguous position:

  "Sir, it's the Prefect of Police!"

  "Eh?" said Perenna. "Where is he?"

  "Downstairs, sir. I did not know what to do, at first ... and I thoughtof telling Mlle. Levasseur. But--"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Here is his card, sir."

  Perenna took the card from the tray and read M. Desmalions's name. Hewent to the window, opened it and, with the aid of the overhead mirror,looked into the Place du Palais-Bourbon. Half a dozen men were walkingabout. He recognized them. They were his usual watchers, those whom hehad got rid of on the evening before and who had come to resume theirobservation.

  "No others?" he said to himself. "Come, we have nothing to fear, and thePrefect of Police has none but the best intentions toward me. It was whatI expected; and I think that I was well advised to save his life."

  M. Desmalions entered without a word. All that he did was to bend hishead slightly, with a movement that might be taken for a bow. As forWeber, who was with him, he did not even give himself the trouble todisguise his feelings toward such a man as Perenna.

  Don Luis took no direct notice of this attitude, but, in revenge,ostentatiously omitted to push forward more than one chair. M.Desmalions, however, preferred to walk about the room, with his handsbehind his back, as if to continue his reflections before speaking.

  The silence was prolonged. Don Luis waited patiently. Then, suddenly, thePrefect stopped and said:

  "When you left the Boulevard Richard-Wallace, Monsieur, did you gostraight home?"

  Don Luis did not demur to this cross-examining manner and answered:

  "Yes, Monsieur le Prefet."

  "Here, to your study?"

  "Here, to my study."

  M. Desmalions paused and then went on:

  "I left thirty or forty minutes after you and drove to the police officein my car. There I received this express letter. Read it. You will seethat it was handed in at the Bourse at half-past nine."

  Don Luis took the letter and read the following words, written incapital letters:

  This is to inform you that Gaston Sauverand, after making his escape,rejoined his accomplice Perenna, who, as you know, is none other thanArsene Lupin. Arsene Lupin gave you Sauverand's address in order to getrid of him and to receive the Mornington inheritance. They werereconciled this morning, and Arsene Lupin suggested a safe hiding-placeto Sauverand. It is easy to prove their meeting and their complicity.Sauverand handed Lupin the half of the walking-stick which he had carriedaway unawares. You will find it under the cushions of a sofa standingbetween the two windows of Perenna's study.

  Don Luis shrugged his shoulders. The letter was absurd; for he had notonce left his study. He folded it up quietly and handed it to the Prefectof Police without comment. He was resolved to let M. Desmalions take theinitiative in the conversation.

  The Prefect asked:

  "What is your reply to the accusation?"

  "None, Monsieur le Prefet."

  "Still, it is quite plain and easy to prove or disprove."

  "Very easy, indeed, Monsieur le Prefet; the sofa is there, betweenthe windows."

  M. Desmalions waited two or three seconds and then walked to the sofa andmoved the cushions. Under one of them lay the handle end of thewalking-stick.

  Don Luis could not repress a gestur
e of amazement and anger. He had notfor a second contemplated the possibility of such a miracle; and it tookhim unawares. However, he mastered himself. After all, there was nothingto prove that this half of a walking-stick was really that which hadbeen seen in Gaston Sauverand's hands and which Sauverand had carriedaway by mistake.

  "I have the other half on me," said the Prefect of Police, replying tothe unspoken objection. "Deputy Chief Weber himself picked it up on theBoulevard Richard-Wallace. Here it is."

  He produced it from the inside pocket of his overcoat and tried it. Theends of the two pieces fitted exactly.

  There was a fresh pause. Perenna was confused, as were those, invariably,upon whom he himself used to inflict this kind of defeat and humiliation.He could not get over it. By what prodigy had Gaston Sauverand managed,in that short space of twenty minutes, to enter the house and make hisway into this room? Even the theory of an accomplice living in the housedid not do much to make the phenomenon easier to understand.

  "It upsets all my calculations," he thought, "and I shall have to gothrough the mill this time. I was able to baffle Mme. Fauville'saccusation and to foil the trick of the turquoise. But M. Desmalions willnever admit that this is a similar attempt and that Gaston Sauverand hastried, as Marie Fauville did, to get me out of the way by compromising meand procuring my arrest."

  "Well," exclaimed M. Desmalions impatiently, "answer! Defend yourself!"

  "No, Monsieur le Prefet, it is not for me to defend myself,"

  M. Desmalions stamped his foot and growled:

  "In that case ... in that case ... since you confess ... since--"

  He put his hand on the latch of the window, ready to open it. A whistle,and the detectives would burst in and all would be over.

  "Shall I have your inspectors called, Monsieur le Prefet?" asked DonLuis.

  M. Desmalions did not reply. He let go the window latch and startedwalking about the room again. And, suddenly, while Perenna was wonderingwhy he still hesitated, for the second time the Prefect planted himselfin front of him, and said:

  "And suppose I looked upon the incident of the walking-stick as nothaving occurred, or, rather, as an incident which, while doubtlessproving the treachery of your servants, is not able to compromiseyourself? Suppose I took only the services which you have alreadyrendered us into consideration? In a word, suppose I left you free?"

  Perenna could not help smiling. Notwithstanding the affair of thewalking-stick and though appearances were all against him, at the momentwhen everything seemed to be going wrong, things were taking the coursewhich he had prophesied from the start, and which he had mentioned toMazeroux during the inquiry on the Boulevard Suchet. They wanted him.

  "Free?" he asked. "No more supervision? Nobody shadowing my movements?"

  "Nobody."

  "And what if the press campaign around my name continues, if the paperssucceed, by means of certain pieces of tittle-tattle, of certaincoincidences, in creating a public outcry, if they call for measuresagainst me?"

  "Those measures shall not be taken."

  "Then I have nothing to fear?"

  "Nothing."

  "Will M. Weber abandon his prejudices against me?"

  "At any rate, he will act as though he did, won't you, Weber?"

  The deputy chief uttered a few grunts which might be taken as anexpression of assent; and Don Luis at once exclaimed:

  "In that case, Monsieur le Prefet, I am sure of gaining the victory andof gaining it in accordance with the wishes and requirements of theauthorities."

  And so, by a sudden change in the situation, after a series ofexceptional circumstances, the police themselves, bowing before Don LuisPerenna's superior qualities of mind, acknowledging all that he hadalready done and foreseeing all that he would be able to do, decided toback him up, begging for his assistance, and offering him, so to speak,the command of affairs.

  It was a flattering compliment. Was it addressed only to Don LuisPerenna? And had Lupin, the terrible, undaunted Lupin, no right to claimhis share? Was it possible to believe that M. Desmalions, in his heart ofhearts, did not admit the identity of the two persons?

  Nothing in the Prefect's attitude gave any clue to his secret thoughts.He was suggesting to Don Luis Perenna one of those compacts which thepolice are often obliged to conclude in order to gain their ends. Thecompact was concluded, and no more was said upon the subject.

  "Do you want any particulars of me?" asked the Prefect of Police.

  "Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. The papers spoke of a notebook found in poorInspector Verot's pocket. Did the notebook contain a clue of any kind?"

  "No. Personal notes, lists of disbursements, that's all. Wait, I wasforgetting, there was a photograph of a woman, about which I have not yetbeen able to obtain the least information. Besides, I don't suppose thatit bears upon the case and I have not sent it to the newspapers. Look,here it is."

  Perenna took the photograph which the Prefect handed him and gave a startthat did not escape M. Desmalions's eye.

  "Do you know the lady?"

  "No. No, Monsieur le Prefet. I thought I did; but no, there's merely aresemblance--a family likeness, which I will verify if you can leave thephotograph with me till this evening."

  "Till this evening, yes. When you have done with it, give it back toSergeant Mazeroux, whom I will order to work in concert with you ineverything that relates to the Mornington case."

  The interview was now over. The Prefect went away. Don Luis saw him tothe door. As M. Desmalions was about to go down the steps, he turned andsaid simply:

  "You saved my life this morning. But for you, that scoundrel Sauverand--"

  "Oh, Monsieur le Prefet!" said Don Luis, modestly protesting.

  "Yes, I know, you are in the habit of doing that sort of thing. All thesame, you must accept my thanks."

  And the Prefect of Police made a bow such as he would really have made toDon Luis Perenna, the Spanish noble, the hero of the Foreign Legion. Asfor Weber, he put his two hands in his pockets, walked past with the lookof a muzzled mastiff, and gave his enemy a glance of fierce hatred.

  "By Jupiter!" thought Don Luis. "There's a fellow who won't miss me whenhe gets the chance to shoot!"

  Looking through a window, he saw M. Desmalions's motor car drive off. Thedetectives fell in behind the deputy chief and left the Place duPalais-Bourbon. The siege was raised.

  "And now to work!" said Don Luis. "My hands are free, and we shall makethings hum."

  He called the butler.

  "Serve lunch; and ask Mlle. Levasseur to come and speak to meimmediately after."

  He went to the dining-room and sat down, placing on the table thephotograph which M. Desmalions had left behind; and, bending over it, heexamined it attentively. It was a little faded, a little worn, asphotographs have a tendency to become when they lie about in pocket-booksor among papers; but the picture was quite clear. It was the radiantpicture of a young woman in evening dress, with bare arms and shoulders,with flowers and leaves in her hair and a smile upon her face.

  "Mlle. Levasseur, Mlle. Levasseur," he said. "Is it possible!"

  In a corner was a half-obliterated and hardly visible signature. He madeout, "Florence," the girl's name, no doubt. And he repeated:

  "Mlle. Levasseur, Florence Levasseur. How did her photograph come to bein Inspector Verot's pocket-book? And what is the connection betweenthis adventure and the reader of the Hungarian count from whom I tookover the house?"

  He remembered the incident of the iron curtain. He remembered the articlein the _Echo de France_, an article aimed against him, of which he hadfound the rough draft in his own courtyard. And, above all, he thought ofthe problem of that broken walking-stick conveyed into his study.

  And, while his mind was striving to read these events clearly, while hetried to settle the part played by Mlle. Levasseur, his eyes remainedfixed upon the photograph and he gazed absent-mindedly at the prettylines of the mouth, the charming smile, the graceful curve of the neck,the admira
ble sweep of the shoulders.

  The door opened suddenly and Mlle. Levasseur burst into the room.Perenna, who had dismissed the butler, was raising to his lips a glass ofwater which he had just filled for himself. She sprang forward, seizedhis arm, snatched the glass from him and flung it on the carpet, where itsmashed to pieces.

  "Have you drunk any of it? Have you drunk any of it?" she gasped, in achoking voice.

  He replied:

  "No, not yet. Why?"

  She stammered:

  "The water in that bottle ... the water in that bottle--"

  "Well?"

  "It's poisoned!"

  He leapt from his chair and, in his turn, gripped her arm fiercely:

  "What's that? Poisoned! Are you certain? Speak!"

  In spite of his usual self-control, he was this time thoroughly alarmed.Knowing the terrible effects of the poison employed by the miscreantswhom he was attacking, recalling the corpse of Inspector Verot, thecorpses of Hippolyte Fauville and his son, he knew that, trained thoughhe was to resist comparatively large doses of poison, he could not haveescaped the deadly action of this. It was a poison that did not forgive,that killed, surely and fatally.

  The girl was silent. He raised his voice in command:

  "Answer me! Are you certain?"

  "No ... it was an idea that entered my head--a presentiment ... certaincoincidences--"

  It was as though she regretted her words and now tried to withdraw them.

  "Come, come," he cried, "I want to know the truth: You're not certainthat the water in this bottle is poisoned?"

  "No ... it's possible--"

  "Still, just now--"

  "I thought so. But no ... no!"

  "It's easy to make sure," said Perenna, putting out his hand for thewater bottle.

  She was quicker than he, seized it and, with one blow, broke it againstthe table.

  "What are you doing?" he said angrily.

  "I made a mistake. And so there is no need to attach any importance--"

  Don Luis hurriedly left the dining-room. By his orders, the water whichhe drank was drawn from a filter that stood in a pantry at the end of thepassage leading from the dining-room to the kitchens and beyond. He ranto it and took from a shelf a bowl which he filled with water from thefilter. Then, continuing to follow the passage, which at this spotbranched off toward the yard, he called Mirza, the puppy, who was playingby the stables.

  "Here," he said, putting the bowl in front of her.

  The puppy began to drink. But she stopped almost at once and stoodmotionless, with her paws tense and stiff. A shiver passed through thelittle body. The dog gave a hoarse groan, spun round two or threetimes, and fell.

  "She's dead," he said, after touching the animal.

  Mlle. Levasseur had joined him. He turned to her and rapped out:

  "You were right about the poison--and you knew it. How did you know it?"

  All out of breath, she checked the beating of her heart and answered:

  "I saw the other puppy drinking in the pantry. She's dead. I told thecoachman and the chauffeur. They're over there, in the stable. And I ranto warn you."

  "In that case, there was no doubt about it. Why did you say that you werenot certain that the water was poisoned, when--"

  The chauffeur and the coachman were coming out of the stables. Leadingthe girl away, Perenna said:

  "We must talk about this. We'll go to your rooms."

  They went back to the bend in the passage. Near the pantry where thefilter was, another passage ran, ending in a flight of three steps, witha door at the top of the steps. Perenna opened this door. It was theentrance to the rooms occupied by Mlle. Levasseur. They went into asitting-room.

  Don Luis closed the entrance door and the door of the sitting-room.

  "And now," he said, in a resolute tone, "you and I will have anexplanation."