"He's tricked us! His letters, his hiding-place, the movable nail, were
all shams. Oh, the scoundrel!"
He went down to the ground floor and into the courtyard. On the boulevard
he met one of the detectives who had given chase to the murderer and who
was returning quite out of breath.
"Well?" he asked anxiously,
"Monsieur le Préfet, he turned down the first street, where there was a
motor waiting for him. The engine must have been working, for our man
outdistanced us at once."
"But what about my car?"
"You see, Monsieur le Préfet, 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 he
has seen the newspapers."
Weber shook his head.
"Unless the driver is himself a confederate, Monsieur le Préfet.
Besides, even if we find the cab, aren't we bound to suppose that Gaston
Sauverand will know how to front the scent? We shall have trouble,
Monsieur le Préfet."
"Yes," whispered Don Luis, who had been present at the first
investigation and who was left alone for a moment with Mazeroux. "Yes,
you will have trouble, especially if you let the people you capture take
to 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 that
he has accomplices--and not a hundred yards from my house--do you
understand? From my house."
After questioning Mazeroux upon Sauverand's attitude and the other
incidents of the arrest, Don Luis went back to the Place du
Palais-Bourbon.
* * * * *
The inquiry which he had to make related to events that were certainly
quite as strange as those which he had just witnessed; and while the
part played by Gaston Sauverand in the pursuit of the Mornington
inheritance deserved all his attention, the behaviour of Mlle. Levasseur
puzzled him no less.
He could not forget the cry of terror that escaped the girl while he was
telephoning to Mazeroux, nor the scared expression of her face. Now it
was impossible to attribute that cry and that expression to anything
other 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 the
attempt and Mlle. Levasseur's extreme emotion was too obvious for Perenna
not to try to draw conclusions.
He went straight to his study and at once examined the arch leading to
the 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 drawn
up, leaving the arch uncovered. Under the hanging, among the moldings of
the cornice, was a button that had only to be pressed to bring down the
iron curtain against which he had thrown himself two hours before.
He worked the catch two or three times over, and his experiments
proved to him in the most explicit fashion that the mechanism was in
perfect order and unable to act without outside intervention. Was he
then to conclude that the girl had wanted to kill him? But what could
be her motive?
He was on the point of ringing and sending for her, so as to receive the
explanation which he was resolved to demand from her. However, the
minutes passed and he did not ring. He saw her through the window as she
walked slowly across the yard, her body swinging gracefully from her
hips. 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 ill
at ease, dissatisfied with himself and with the course of events, not one
of which brought him the least glimmer of truth; in fact, all of them
seemed to deepen the darkness in which he was battling. Eager to act, the
moment he did so he encountered fresh obstacles that paralyzed his powers
of action and left him in utter ignorance of the nature of his
adversaries.
But, at twelve o'clock, just as he had rung for lunch, his butler entered
the study with a tray in his hand, and exclaimed, with an agitation which
showed 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 thought
of 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. He
went 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 walking
about. He recognized them. They were his usual watchers, those whom he
had got rid of on the evening before and who had come to resume their
observation.
"No others?" he said to himself. "Come, we have nothing to fear, and the
Prefect of Police has none but the best intentions toward me. It was what
I 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 his
head slightly, with a movement that might be taken for a bow. As for
Weber, who was with him, he did not even give himself the trouble to
disguise 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 hands
behind his back, as if to continue his reflections before speaking.
The silence was prolonged. Don Luis waited patiently. Then, suddenly, the
Prefect stopped and said:
"When you left the Boulevard Richard-Wallace, Monsieur, did you go
straight home?"
Don Luis did not demur to this cross-examining manner and answered:
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet."
"Here, to your study?"
"Here, to my study."