a man doomed

the door was opened by a manservant. mazeroux sent in his card.

hippolyte received the two visitors in his study. the table, on which stood a movable telephone, was littered with books, pamphlets, and papers. there were two tall desks, with diagrams and drawings, and some glass cases containing reduced models, in ivory and steel, of apparatus constructed or invented by the engineer.

a large sofa stood against the wall. in one corner was a winding staircase that led to a circular gallery. an electric chandelier hung from the ceiling.

mazeroux, after stating his quality and introducing his friend perenna as also sent by the prefect of police, at once expounded the object of their visit.

m. desmalions, he said, was feeling anxious on the score of very serious indications which he had just received and, without waiting for the next day's interview, begged m. fauville to take all the precautions which his detectives might advise.

fauville at first displayed a certain ill humour.

"my precautions are taken, gentlemen, and well taken. and, on the other hand, i am afraid that your interference may do harm."

"in what way?"

"by arousing the attention of my enemies and preventing me, for that reason, from collecting proofs which i need in order to confound them."

"can you explain—?"

"no, i cannot … to-morrow, to-morrow morning—not before."

"and if it's too late?" don luis interjected.

"too late? to-morrow?"

"inspector vérot told m. desmalions's secretary that the two murders would take place to-night. he said it was fatal and irrevocable."

"to-night?" cried fauville angrily. "i tell you no! not to-night. i'm sure of that. there are things which i know, aren't there, which you do not?"

"yes," retorted don luis, "but there may also be things which inspector vérot knew and which you don't know. he had perhaps learned more of your enemies' secrets than you did. the proof is that he was suspected, that a man carrying an ebony walking-stick was seen watching his movements, that, lastly, he was killed."

hippolyte fauville's self-assurance decreased. perenna took advantage of this to insist; and he insisted to such good purpose that fauville, though without withdrawing from his reserve, ended by yielding before a will that was stronger than his own.

"well, but you surely don't intend to spend the night in here?"

"we do indeed."

"why, it's ridiculous! it's sheer waste of time! after all, looking at things from the worst—and what do you want besides?"

"who lives in the house?"

"who? my wife, to begin with. she has the first floor."

"mme. fauville is not threatened?"

"no, not at all. it's i who am threatened with death; i and my son edmond. that is why, for the past week, instead of sleeping in my regular bedroom, i have locked myself up in this room. i have given my work as a pretext; a quantity of writing which keeps me up very late and for which i need my son's assistance."

"does he sleep here, then?"

"he sleeps above us, in a little room which i have had arranged for him.

the only access to it is by this inner staircase."

"is he there now?"

"yes, he's asleep."

"how old is he?"

"sixteen."

"but the fact that you have changed your room shows that you feared some one would attack you. whom had you in mind? an enemy living in the house? one of your servants? or people from the outside? in that case, how could they get in? the whole question lies in that."

"to-morrow, to-morrow," replied fauville, obstinately. "i will explain everything to-morrow—"

"why not to-night?" perenna persisted.

"because i want proofs, i tell you; because the mere fact of my talking may have terrible consequences—and i am frightened; yes, i'm frightened—"

he was trembling, in fact, and looked so wretched and terrified that don

luis insisted no longer.

"very well," he said, "i will only ask your permission, for my comrade and myself, to spend the night where we can hear you if you call."

"as you please, monsieur. perhaps, after all, that will be best."

at that moment one of the servants knocked and came in to say that his mistress wished to see the master before she went out. madame fauville entered almost immediately. she bowed pleasantly as perenna and mazeroux rose from their chairs.

she was a woman between thirty and thirty-five, a woman of a bright and smiling beauty, which she owed to her blue eyes, to her wavy hair, to all the charm of her rather vapid but amiable and very pretty face. she wore a long, figured-silk cloak over an evening dress that showed her fine shoulders.

her husband said, in surprise

"are you going out to-night?"

"you forget," she said. "the auverards offered me a seat in their box at the opera; and you yourself asked me to look in at mme. d'ersingen's party afterward—"

"so i did, so i did," he said. "it escaped my memory; i am working so hard."

she finished buttoning her gloves and asked:

"won't you come and fetch me at mme. d'ersingen's?"

"what for?"

"they would like it."

"but i shouldn't. besides, i don't feel well enough."

"then i'll make your apologies for you."

"yes, do."

she drew her cloak around her with a graceful gesture, and stood for a few moments, without moving, as though seeking a word of farewell. then she said:

"edmond's not here! i thought he was working with you?"

"he was feeling tired."

"is he asleep?"

"yes."

"i wanted to kiss him good-night."

"no, you would only wake him. and here's your car; so go, dear. amuse yourself."

"oh, amuse myself!" she said. "there's not much amusement about the opera and an evening party."

"still, it's better than keeping one's room."

there was some little constraint. it was obviously one of those ill-assorted households in which the husband, suffering in health and not caring for the pleasures of society, stays at home, while the wife seeks the enjoyments to which her age and habits entitle her.

as he said nothing more, she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. then, once more bowing to the two visitors, she went out. a moment later they heard the sound of the motor driving away.

hippolyte fauville at once rose and rang the bell. then he said:

"no one here has any idea of the danger hanging over me. i have confided in nobody, not even in silvestre, my own man, though he has been in my service for years and is honesty itself."

the manservant entered.

"i am going to bed, silvestre," said m. fauville. "get everything ready."

silvestre opened the upper part of the great sofa, which made a comfortable bed, and laid the sheets and blankets. next, at his master's orders, he brought a jug of water, a glass, a plate of biscuits, and a dish of fruit.

m. fauville ate a couple of biscuits and then cut a dessert-apple. it was not ripe. he took two others, felt them, and, not thinking them good, put them back as well. then he peeled a pear and ate it.

"you can leave the fruit dish," he said to his man. "i shall be glad of it, if i am hungry during the night…. oh, i was forgetting! these two gentlemen are staying. don't mention it to anybody. and, in the morning, don't come until i ring."

the man placed the fruit dish on the table before retiring. perenna, who was noticing everything, and who was afterward to remember every smallest detail of that evening, which his memory recorded with a sort of mechanical faithfulness, counted three pears and four apples in the dish.

meanwhile, fauville went up the winding staircase, and, going along the gallery, reached the room where his son lay in bed.

"he's fast asleep," he said to perenna, who had joined him.

the bedroom was a small one. the air was admitted by a special system of ventilation, for the dormer window was hermetically closed by a wooden shutter tightly nailed down.

"i took the precaution last year," hippolyte fauville explained. "i used to make my electrical experiments in this room and was afraid of being spied upon, so i closed the aperture opening on the roof."

and he added in a low voice:

"they have been prowling around me for a long time."

the two men went downstairs again.

fauville looked at his watch.

"a quarter past ten: bedtime, i am exceedingly tired, and you will excuse me—"

it was arranged that perenna and mazeroux should make themselves comfortable in a couple of easy chairs which they carried into the passage between the study and the entrance hall. but, before bidding them good-night, hippolyte fauville, who, although greatly excited, had appeared until then to retain his self-control, was seized with a sudden attack of weakness. he uttered a faint cry. don luis turned round and saw the sweat pouring like gleaming water down his face and neck, while he shook with fever and anguish.

"what's the matter?" asked perenna.

"i'm frightened! i'm frightened!" he said.

"this is madness!" cried don luis. "aren't we here, the two of us? we can easily spend the night with you, if you prefer, by your bedside."

fauville replied by shaking perenna violently by the shoulder, and, with distorted features, stammering:

"if there were ten of you—if there were twenty of you with me, you need not think that it would spoil their schemes! they can do anything they please, do you hear, anything! they have already killed inspector vérot—they will kill me—and they will kill my son. oh, the blackguards! my god, take pity on me! the awful terror of it! the pain i suffer!"

he had fallen on his knees and was striking his breast and repeating:

"o god, have pity on me! i can't die! i can't let my son die! have pity on me, i beseech thee!"

he sprang to his feet and led perenna to a glass-fronted case, which he rolled back on its brass castors, revealing a small safe built into the wall.

"you will find my whole story here, written up day by day for the past three years. if anything should happen to me, revenge will be easy."

he hurriedly turned the letters of the padlock and, with a key which he took from his pocket, opened the safe.

it was three fourths empty; but on one of the shelves, between some piles of papers, was a diary bound in drab cloth, with a rubber band round it. he took the diary, and, emphasizing his words, said:

"there, look, it's all in here. with this, the hideous business can be reconstructed…. there are my suspicions first and then my certainties…. everything, everything … how to trap them and how to do for them…. you'll remember, won't you? a diary bound in drab cloth…. i'm putting it back in the safe."

gradually his calmness returned. he pushed back the glass case, tidied a few papers, switched on the electric lamp above his bed, put out the lights in the middle of the ceiling, and asked don luis and mazeroux to leave him.

don luis, who was walking round the room and examining the iron shutters of the two windows, noticed a door opposite the entrance door and asked the engineer about it.

"i use it for my regular clients," said fauville, "and sometimes i go out that way."

"does it open on the garden?"

"yes."

"is it properly closed?"

"you can see for yourself; it's locked and bolted with a safety bolt.

both keys are on my bunch; so is the key of the garden gate."

he placed the bunch of keys on the table with his pocket-book and, after first winding it, his watch.

don luis, without troubling to ask permission, took the keys and unfastened the lock and the bolt. a flight of three steps brought him to the garden. he followed the length of the narrow border. through the ivy he saw and heard the two policemen pacing up and down the boulevard. he tried the lock of the gate. it was fastened.

"everything's all right," he said when he returned, "and you can be easy.

good-night."

"good-night," said the engineer, seeing perenna and mazeroux out.

between his study and the passage were two doors, one of which was padded and covered with oilcloth. on the other side, the passage was separated from the hall by a heavy curtain.

"you can go to sleep," said perenna to his companion. "i'll sit up."

"but surely, chief, you don't think that anything's going to happen!"

"i don't think so, seeing the precautions which we've taken. but, knowing inspector vérot as you did, do you think he was the man to imagine things?"

"no, chief."

"well, you know what he prophesied. that means that he had his reasons for doing so. and therefore i shall keep my eyes open."

"we'll take it in turns, chief; wake me when it's my time to watch."

seated motionlessly, side by side, they exchanged an occasional remark. soon after, mazeroux fell asleep. don luis remained in his chair without moving, his ears pricked up. everything was quiet in the house. outside, from time to time, the sound of a motor car or of a cab rolled by. he could also hear the late trains on the auteuil line.

he rose several times and went up to the door. not a sound. hippolyte

fauville was evidently asleep.

"capital!" said perenna to himself. "the boulevard is watched. no one can enter the room except by this way. so there is nothing to fear."

at two o'clock in the morning a car stopped outside the house, and one of the manservants, who must have been waiting in the kitchen, hastened to the front door. perenna switched off the light in the passage, and, drawing the curtain slightly aside, saw mme. fauville enter, followed by silvestre.

she went up. the lights on the staircase were put out. for half an hour or so there was a sound overhead of voices and of chairs moving. then all was silence.

and, amid this silence, perenna felt an unspeakable anguish arise within him, he could not tell why. but it was so violent, the impression became so acute, that he muttered:

"i shall go and see if he's asleep. i don't expect that he has bolted the doors."

he had only to push both doors to open them; and, with his electric lantern in his hand, he went up to the bed. hippolyte fauville was sleeping with his face turned to the wall.

perenna gave a smile of relief. he returned to the passage and, shaking mazeroux:

"your turn, alexandre."

"no news, chief?"

"no, none; he's asleep."

"how do you know?"

"i've had a look at him."

"that's funny; i never heard you. it's true, though, i've slept like a pig."

he followed perenna into the study, and perenna said:

"sit down and don't wake him. i shall take forty winks."

he had one more turn at sentry duty. but, even while dozing, he remained conscious of all that happened around him. a clock struck the hours with a low chime; and each time perenna counted the strokes. then came the life outside awakening, the rattle of the milk-carts, the whistle of the early suburban trains.

people began to stir inside the house. the daylight trickled in through the crannies of the shutters, and the room gradually became filled with light.

"let's go away," said sergeant mazeroux. "it would be better for him not to find us here."

"hold your tongue!" said don luis, with an imperious gesture.

"why?"

"you'll wake him up."

"but you can see i'm not waking him," said mazeroux, without lowering his tone.

"that's true, that's true," whispered don luis, astonished that the sound of that voice had not disturbed the sleeper.

and he felt himself overcome with the same anguish that had seized upon him in the middle of the night, a more clearly defined anguish, although he would not, although he dared not, try to realize the reason of it.

"what's the matter with you, chief? you're looking like nothing on earth.

what is it?"

"nothing—nothing. i'm frightened—"

mazeroux shuddered.

"frightened of what? you say that just as he did last night."

"yes … yes … and for the same reason."

"but—?"

"don't you understand? don't you understand that i'm wondering—?"

"no; what?"

"if he's not dead!"

"but you're mad, chief!"

"no…. i don't know…. only, only … i have an impression of death—"

lantern in hand, he stood as one paralyzed, opposite the bed; and he who was afraid of nothing in the world had not the courage to throw the light on hippolyte fauville's face. a terrifying silence rose and filled the room.

"oh, chief, he's not moving!"

"i know … i know … and i now see that he has not moved once during the night. and that's what frightens me."

he had to make a real effort in order to step forward. he was now almost touching the bed.

the engineer did not appear to breathe.

this time, perenna resolutely took hold of his hand.

it was icy cold.

don luis at once recovered all his self-possession.

"the window! open the window!" he cried.

and, when the light flooded the room, he saw the face of hippolyte

fauville all swollen, stained with brown patches.

"oh," he said, under his breath, "he's dead!"

"dash it all! dash it all!" spluttered the detective sergeant.

for two or three minutes they stood petrified, stupefied, staggered at the sight of this most astonishing and mysterious phenomenon. then a sudden idea made perenna start. he flew up the winding staircase, rushed along the gallery, and darted into the attic.

edmond, hippolyte fauville's son, lay stiff and stark on his bed, with a cadaverous face, dead, too.

"dash it all! dash it all!" repeated mazeroux.

never, perhaps, in the course of his adventurous career, had perenna experienced such a knockdown blow. it gave him a feeling of extreme lassitude, depriving him of all power of speech or movement. father and son were dead! they had been killed during that night! a few hours earlier, though the house was watched and every outlet hermetically closed, both had been poisoned by an infernal puncture, even as inspector vérot was poisoned, even as cosmo mornington was poisoned.

"dash it all!" said mazeroux once more. "it was not worth troubling about the poor devils and performing such miracles to save them!"

the exclamation conveyed a reproach. perenna grasped it and admitted:

"you are right, mazeroux; i was not equal to the job."

"nor i, chief."

"you … you have only been in this business since yesterday evening—"

"well, so have you, chief!"

"yes, i know, since yesterday evening, whereas the others have been working at it for weeks and weeks. but, all the same, these two are dead; and i was there, i, lupin, was there! the thing has been done under my eyes; and i saw nothing! i saw nothing! how is it possible?"

he uncovered the poor boy's shoulders, showing the mark of a puncture at the top of the arm.

"the same mark—the same mark obviously that we shall find on the father…. the lad does not seem to have suffered, either…. poor little chap! he did not look very strong…. never mind, it's a nice face; what a terrible blow for his mother when she learns!"

the detective sergeant wept with anger and pity, while he kept on mumbling:

"dash it all!… dash it all!"

"we shall avenge them, eh, mazeroux?"

"rather, chief! twice over!"

"once will do, mazeroux. but it shall be done with a will."

"that i swear it shall!"

"you're right; let's swear. let us swear that this dead pair shall be avenged. let us swear not to lay down our arms until the murderers of hippolyte fauville and his son are punished as they deserve."

"i swear it as i hope to be saved, chief."

"good!" said perenna. "and now to work. you go and telephone at once to the police office. i am sure that m. desmalions will approve of your informing him without delay. he takes an immense interest in the case."

"and if the servants come? if mme. fauville—?"

"no one will come till we open the doors; and we shan't open them except to the prefect of police. it will be for him, afterward, to tell mme. fauville that she is a widow and that she has no son. go! hurry!"

"one moment, chief; we are forgetting something that will help us enormously."

"what's that?"

"the little drab-cloth diary in the safe, in which m. fauville describes the plot against him."

"why, of course!" said perenna. "you're right … especially as he omitted to mix up the letters of the lock last night, and the key is on the bunch which he left lying on the table."

they ran down the stairs.

"leave this to me," said mazeroux. "it's more regular that you shouldn't touch the safe."

he took the bunch, moved the glass case, and inserted the key with a feverish emotion which don luis felt even more acutely than he did. they were at last about to know the details of the mysterious story. the dead man himself would betray the secret of his murderers.

"lord, what a time you take!" growled don luis.

mazeroux plunged both hands into the crowd of papers that encumbered the iron shelf.

"well, mazeroux, hand it over."

"what?"

"the diary."

"i can't chief."

"what's that?"

"it's gone."

don luis stifled an oath. the drab-cloth diary, which the engineer had placed in the safe before their eyes, had disappeared.

mazeroux shook his head.

"dash it all! so they knew about that diary!"

"of course they did; and they knew plenty of other things besides. we've not seen the end of it with those fellows. there's no time to lose. ring up!"

mazeroux did so and soon received the answer that m. desmalions was coming to the telephone. he waited.

in a few minutes perenna, who had been walking up and down, examining different objects in the room, came and sat down beside mazeroux. he seemed thoughtful. he reflected for some time. but then, his eyes falling on the fruit dish, he muttered:

"hullo! there are only three apples instead of four. then he ate the fourth."

"yes," said mazeroux, "he must have eaten it."

"that's funny," replied perenna, "for he didn't think them ripe."

he was silent once more, sat leaning his elbows on the table, visibly preoccupied; then, raising his head, he let fall these words:

"the murder was committed before we entered the room, at half-past twelve exactly."

"how do you know, chief?"

"m. fauville's murderer or murderers, in touching the things on the table, knocked down the watch which m. fauville had placed there. they put it back; but the fall had stopped it. and it stopped at half-past twelve."

"then, chief, when we settled ourselves here, at two in the morning, it was a corpse that was lying beside us and another over our heads?"

"yes."

"but how did those devils get in?"

"through this door, which opens on the garden, and through the gate that opens on the boulevard suchet."

"then they had keys to the locks and bolts?"

"false keys, yes."

"but the policemen watching the house outside?"

"they are still watching it, as that sort watch a house, walking from point to point without thinking that people can slip into a garden while they have their backs turned. that's what took place in coming and going."

sergeant mazeroux seemed flabbergasted. the criminals' daring, their skill, the precision of their acts bewildered him.

"they're deuced clever," he said.

"deuced clever, mazeroux, as you say; and i foresee a tremendous battle.

by jupiter, with what a vim they set to work!"

the telephone bell rang. don luis left mazeroux to his conversation with the prefect, and, taking the bunch of keys, easily unfastened the lock and the bolt of the door and went out into the garden, in the hope of there finding some trace that should facilitate his quest.

as on the day before, he saw, through the ivy, two policemen walking between one lamp-post and the next. they did not see him. moreover, anything that might happen inside the house appeared to be to them a matter of total indifference.

"that's my great mistake," said perenna to himself. "it doesn't do to entrust a job to people who do not suspect its importance."

his investigations led to the discovery of some traces of footsteps on the gravel, traces not sufficiently plain to enable him to distinguish the shape of the shoes that had left them, yet distinct enough to confirm his supposition. the scoundrels had been that way.

suddenly he gave a movement of delight. against the border of the path, among the leaves of a little clump of rhododendrons, he saw something red, the shape of which at once struck him. he stooped. it was an apple, the fourth apple, the one whose absence from the fruit dish he had noticed.

"excellent!" he said. "hippolyte fauville did not eat it. one of them must have carried it away—a fit of appetite, a sudden hunger—and it must have rolled from his hand without his having time to look for it and pick it up."

he took up the fruit and examined it.

"what!" he exclaimed, with a start. "can it be possible?"

he stood dumfounded, a prey to real excitement, refusing to admit the inadmissible thing which nevertheless presented itself to his eyes with the direct evidence of actuality. some one had bitten into the apple; into the apple which was too sour to eat. and the teeth had left their mark!

"is it possible?" repeated don luis. "is it possible that one of them can have been guilty of such an imprudence! the apple must have fallen without his knowing … or he must have been unable to find it in the dark."

he could not get over his surprise. he cast about for plausible explanations. but the fact was there before him. two rows of teeth, cutting through the thin red peel, had left their regular, semicircular bite clearly in the pulp of the fruit. they were clearly marked on the top, while the lower row had melted into a single curved line.

"the teeth of the tiger!" murmured perenna, who could not remove his eyes from that double imprint. "the teeth of the tiger! the teeth that had already left their mark on inspector vérot's piece of chocolate! what a coincidence! it can hardly be fortuitous. must we not take it as certain that the same person bit into this apple and into that cake of chocolate which inspector vérot brought to the police office as an incontestable piece of evidence?"

he hesitated a second. should he keep this evidence for himself, for the personal inquiry which he meant to conduct? or should he surrender it to the investigations of the police? but the touch of the object filled him with such repugnance, with such a sense of physical discomfort, that he flung away the apple and sent it rolling under the leaves of the shrubs.

and he repeated to himself:

"the teeth of the tiger! the teeth of the wild beast!"

he locked the garden door behind him, bolted it, put back the keys on the table and said to mazeroux:

"have you spoken to the chief of police?"

"yes."

"is he coming?"

"yes."

"didn't he order you to telephone for the commissary of police?"

"no."

"that means that he wants to see everything by himself. so much the better. but the detective office? the public prosecutor?"

"he's told them."

"what's the matter with you, alexandre? i have to drag your answers out of you. well, what is it? you're looking at me very queerly. what's up?"

"nothing."

"that's all right. i expect this business has turned your head. and no wonder…. the prefect won't enjoy himself, either, … especially as he put his faith in me a bit light-heartedly and will be called upon to give an explanation of my presence here. by the way, it's much better that you should take upon yourself the responsibility for all that we have done. don't you agree? besides, it'll do you all the good in the world.

"put yourself forward, flatly; suppress me as much as you can; and, above all—i don't suppose that you will have any objection to this little detail—don't be such a fool as to say that you went to sleep for a single second, last night, in the passage. first of all, you'd only be blamed for it. and then … well, that's understood, eh? so we have only to say good-bye.

"if the prefect wants me, as i expect he will, telephone to my address,

place du palais-bourbon. i shall be there. good-bye. it is not necessary

for me to assist at the inquiry; my presence would be out of place.

good-bye, old chap."

he turned toward the door of the passage.

"half a moment!" cried mazeroux.

"half a moment?… what do you mean?"

the detective sergeant had flung himself between him and the door and was blocking his way.

"yes, half a moment … i am not of your opinion. it's far better that you should wait until the prefect comes."

"but i don't care a hang about your opinion!"

"may be; but you shan't pass."

"what! why, alexandre, you must be ill!"

"look here, chief," said mazeroux feebly. "what can it matter to you?

it's only natural that the prefect should wish to speak to you."

"ah, it's the prefect who wishes, is it?… well, my lad, you can tell him that i am not at his orders, that i am at nobody's orders, and that, if the president of the republic, if napoleon i himself were to bar my way … besides, rats! enough said. get out of the road!"

"you shall not pass!" declared mazeroux, in a resolute tone, extending his arms.

"well, i like that!"

"you shall not pass."

"alexandre, just count ten."

"a hundred, if you like, but you shall not…."

"oh, blow your catchwords! get out of this."

he seized mazeroux by both shoulders, made him spin round on his heels and, with a push, sent him floundering over the sofa. then he opened the door.

"halt, or i fire!"

it was mazeroux, who had scrambled to his feet and now stood with his revolver in his hand and a determined expression on his face.

don luis stopped in amazement. the threat was absolutely indifferent to him, and the barrel of that revolver aimed at him left him as cold as could be. but by what prodigy did mazeroux, his former accomplice, his ardent disciple, his devoted servant, by what prodigy did mazeroux dare to act as he was doing?

perenna went up to him and pressed gently on the detective's outstretched arm.

"prefect's orders?" he asked.

"yes," muttered the sergeant, uncomfortably.

"orders to keep me here until he comes?"

"yes."

"and if i betrayed an intention of leaving, to prevent me?"

"yes."

"by every means?"

"yes."

"even by putting a bullet through my skin?"

"yes."

perenna reflected; and then, in a serious voice:

"would you have fired, mazeroux?"

the sergeant lowered his head and said faintly:

"yes, chief."

perenna looked at him without anger, with a glance of affectionate sympathy; and it was an absorbing sight for him to see his former companion dominated by such a sense of discipline and duty. nothing was able to prevail against that sense, not even the fierce admiration, the almost animal attachment which mazeroux retained for his master.

"i'm not angry, mazeroux. in fact, i approve. only you must tell me the reason why the prefect of police—"

the detective did not reply, but his eyes wore an expression of such sadness that don luis started, suddenly understanding.

"no," he cried, "no!… it's absurd … he can't have thought that!… and you, mazeroux, do you believe me guilty?"

"oh, i, chief, am as sure of you as i am of myself!… you don't take life!… but, all the same, there are things … coincidences—"

"things … coincidences …" repeated don luis slowly.

he remained pensive; and, in a low voice, he said:

"yes, after all, there's truth in what you say…. yes, it all fits in…. why didn't i think of it?… my relations with cosmo mornington, my arrival in paris in time for the reading of the will, my insisting on spending the night here, the fact that the death of the two fauvilles undoubtedly gives me the millions…. and then … and then … why, he's absolutely right, your prefect of police!… all the more so as…. well, there, i'm a goner!"

"come, come, chief!"

"a dead-goner, old chap; you just get that into your head. not as arsène lupin, ex-burglar, ex-convict, ex-anything you please—i'm unattackable on that ground—but as don luis perenna, respectable man, residuary legatee, and the rest of it. and it's too stupid! for, after all, who will find the murderers of cosmo, vérot, and the two fauvilles, if they go clapping me into jail?"

"come, come, chief—"

"shut up! … listen!"

a motor car was stopping on the boulevard, followed by another. it was evidently the prefect and the magistrates from the public prosecutor's office.

don luis took mazeroux by the arm.

"there's only one way out of it, alexandre! don't say you went to sleep."

"i must, chief."

"you silly ass!" growled don luis. "how is it possible to be such an ass!

it's enough to disgust one with honesty. what am i to do, then?"

"discover the culprit, chief."

"what! … what are you talking about?"

mazeroux, in his turn, took him by the arm and, clutching him with a sort of despair, said, in a voice choked with tears:

"discover the culprit, chief. if not, you're done for … that's certain … the prefect told me so. … the police want a culprit … they want him this evening…. one has got to be found…. it's up to you to find him."

"what you have, alexandre, is a merry wit."

"it's child's play for you, chief. you have only to set your mind to it."

"but there's not the least clue, you ass!"

"you'll find one … you must … i entreat you, hand them over somebody…. it would be more than i could bear if you were arrested. you, the chief, accused of murder! no, no…. i entreat you, discover the criminal and hand him over…. you have the whole day to do it in…and lupin has done greater things than that!"

he was stammering, weeping, wringing his hands, grimacing with every feature of his comic face. and it was really touching, this grief, this dismay at the approach of the danger that threatened his master.

m. desmalions's voice was heard in the hall, through the curtain that closed the passage. a third motor car stopped on the boulevard, and a fourth, both doubtless laden with policemen.

the house was surrounded, besieged.

perenna was silent.

beside him, anxious-faced, mazeroux seemed to be imploring him.

a few seconds elapsed.

then perenna declared, deliberately:

"looking at things all round, alexandre, i admit that you have seen the position clearly and that your fears are fully justified. if i do not manage to hand over the murderer or murderers of hippolyte fauville and his son to the police in a few hours from now, it is i, don luis perenna, who will be lodged in durance vile on the evening of this thursday, the first of april."