M. Desmalions looked at him without understanding, and looked from him to
the ceiling. Perenna said:
"Oh, there's no witchcraft about it; and, though no one has thrown that
letter from above, though there is not the smallest hole in the ceiling,
the explanation is quite simple!"
"Quite simple, is it?" said M. Desmalions.
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet. It all looks like an extremely complicated
conjuring trick, done almost for fun. Well, I say that it is quite
simple--and, at the same time, terribly tragic. Sergeant Mazeroux, would
you mind drawing back the curtains and giving us as much light as
possible?"
While Mazeroux was executing his orders and M. Desmalions glancing at the
fourth letter, the contents of which were unimportant and merely
confirmed the previous ones, Don Luis took a pair of steps which the
workmen had left in the corner, set it up in the middle of the room and
climbed to the top, where, seated astride, he was able to reach the
electric chandelier.
It consisted of a broad, circular band in brass, beneath which was a
festoon of crystal pendants. Inside were three lamps placed at the
corners of a brass triangle concealing the wires.
He uncovered the wires and cut them. Then he began to take the whole
fitting to pieces. To hasten matters, he asked for a hammer and broke up
the plaster all round the clamps that held the chandelier in position.
"Lend me a hand, please," he said to Mazeroux.
Mazeroux went up the steps; and between them they took hold of the
chandelier and let it slide down the uprights. The detectives caught it
and placed it on the table with some difficulty, for it was much heavier
than it looked.
On inspection, it proved to be surmounted by a cubical metal box,
measuring about eight inches square, which box, being fastened inside the
ceiling between the iron clamps, had obliged Don Luis to knock away the
plaster that concealed it.
"What the devil's this?" exclaimed M. Desmalions.
"Open it for yourself, Monsieur le Préfet: there's a lid to it,"
said Perenna.
M. Desmalions raised the lid. The box was filled with springs and wheels,
a whole complicated and detailed mechanism resembling a piece of
clockwork.
"By your leave, Monsieur le Préfet," said Don Luis.
He took out one piece of machinery and discovered another beneath it,
joined to the first by the gearing of two wheels; and the second was more
like one of those automatic apparatuses which turn out printed slips.
Right at the bottom of the box, just where the box touched the
ceiling, was a semicircular groove, and at the edge of it was a letter
ready for delivery.
"The last of the five letters," said Don Luis, "doubtless continuing the
series of denunciations. You will notice, Monsieur le Préfet, that the
chandelier originally had a fourth lamp in the centre. It was obviously
removed when the chandelier was altered, so as to make room for the
letters to pass."
He continued his detailed explanations:
"So the whole set of letters was placed here, at the bottom. A clever
piece of machinery, controlled by clockwork, took them one by one at the
appointed time, pushed them to the edge of the groove concealed between
the lamps and the pendants, and projected them into space."
None of those standing around Don Luis spoke, and all of them seemed
perhaps a little disappointed. The whole thing was certainly very clever;
but they had expected something better than a trick of springs and
wheels, however surprising.
"Have patience, gentlemen," said Don Luis. "I promised you something
ghastly; and you shall have it."
"Well, I agree," said the Prefect of Police, "that this is where the
letters started from. But a good many points remain obscure; and, apart
from this, there is one fact in particular which it seems impossible to
understand. How were the criminals able to adapt the chandelier in this
way? And, in a house guarded by the police, in a room watched night and
day, how were they able to carry out such a piece of work without being
seen or heard?"
"The answer is quite easy, Monsieur le Préfet: the work was done before
the house was guarded by the police."
"Before the murder was committed, therefore?"
"Before the murder was committed."
"And what is to prove to me that that is so?"
"You have said so yourself, Monsieur le Préfet: because it could not have
been otherwise."
"But do explain yourself, Monsieur!" cried M. Desmalions, with a gesture
of irritation. "If you have important things to tell us, why delay?"
"It is better, Monsieur le Préfet, that you should arrive at the truth in
the same way as I did. When you know the secret of the letters, the truth
is much nearer than you think; and you would have already named the
criminal if the horror of his crime had not been so great as to divert
all suspicion from him."
M. Desmalions looked at him attentively. He felt the importance of
Perenna's every word and he was really anxious.
"Then, according to you," he said, "those letters accusing Madame
Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were placed there with the sole object of
ruining both of them?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet."
"And, as they were placed there before the crime, the plot must have been
schemed before the murder?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, before the murder. From the moment that we
admit the innocence of Mme. Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, we are obliged
to conclude that, as everything accuses them, this is due to a series of
deliberate acts. Mme. Fauville was out on the night of the murder: a
plot! She was unable to say how she spent her time while the murder was
being committed: a plot! Her inexplicable drive in the direction of La
Muette and her cousin Sauverand's walk in the neighbourhood of the house:
plots! The marks left in the apple by those teeth, by Mme. Fauville's own
teeth: a plot and the most infernal of all!
"I tell you, everything is plotted beforehand, everything is, so to
speak, prepared, measured out, labelled, and numbered. Everything takes
place at the appointed time. Nothing is left to chance. It is a work very
nicely pieced together, worthy of the most skilful artisan, so solidly
constructed that outside happenings have not been able to throw it out of
gear; and that the scheme works exactly, precisely, imperturbably, like
the clockwork in this box, which is a perfect symbol of the whole
business and, at the same time, gives a most accurate explanation of it,
because the letters denouncing the murderers were duly posted before the
crime and delivered after the crime on the dates and at the hours
foreseen."