On the fourth evening after the tragic events related, an old
cab-driver, almost entirely hidden in a huge great-coat, rang at
Perenna's door and sent up a letter to Don Luis. He was at once shown
into the study on the first floor. Hardly taking time to throw off his
great-coat, he rushed at Don Luis:
"It's all up with you this time, Chief!" he exclaimed. "This is no moment
for joking: pack up your trunks and be off as quick as you can!"
Don Luis, who sat quietly smoking in an easy chair, answered:
"Which will you have, Mazeroux? A cigar or a cigarette?"
Mazeroux at once grew indignant.
"But look here, Chief, don't you read the papers?"
"Worse luck!"
"In that case, the situation must appear as clear to you as it does to me
and everybody else. During the last three days, since the double suicide,
or, rather, the double murder of Marie Fauville and her cousin Gaston
Sauverand, there hasn't been a newspaper but has said this kind of thing:
'And, now that M. Fauville, his son, his wife, and his cousin Gaston
Sauverand are dead, there's nothing standing between Don Luis Perenna and
the Mornington inheritance!'
"Do you understand what that means? Of course, people speak of the
explosion on the Boulevard Suchet and of Fauville's posthumous
revelations; and they are disgusted with that dirty brute of a Fauville;
and they don't know how to praise your cleverness enough. But there is
one fact that forms the main subject of every conversation and every
discussion.
"Now that the three branches of the Roussel family are extinct, who
remains? Don Luis Perenna. In default of the natural heirs, who inherits
the property? Don Luis Perenna."
"Lucky dog!"
"That's what people are saying, Chief. They say that this series of
murders and atrocities cannot be the effort of chance coincidences, but,
on the contrary, points to the existence of an all-powerful will which
began with the murder of Cosmo Mornington and ended with the capture of
the hundred millions. And to give a name to that will, they pitch on the
nearest, that of the extraordinary, glorious, ill-famed, bewildering,
mysterious, omnipotent, and ubiquitous person who was Cosmo Mornington's
intimate friend and who, from the beginning, has controlled events and
pieced them together, accusing and acquitting people, getting them
arrested, and helping them to escape.
"They say," he went on hurriedly, "that he manages the whole business and
that, if he works it in accordance with his interests, there are a
hundred millions waiting for him at the finish. And this person is Don
Luis Perenna, in other words, Arsène Lupin, the man with the unsavoury
reputation whom it would be madness not to think of in connection with so
colossal a job."
"Thank you!"
"That's what they say, Chief; I'm only telling you. As long as Mme.
Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were alive, people did not give much
thought to your claims as residuary legatee. But both of them died. Then,
you see, people can't help remarking the really surprising persistence
with which luck looks after Don Luis Perenna's interests. You know the
legal maxim: _fecit cui prodest_. Who benefits by the disappearance of
all the Roussel heirs? Don Luis Perenna."
"The scoundrel!"
"The scoundrel: that's the word which Weber goes roaring out all along
the passages of the police office and the criminal investigation
department. You are the scoundrel and Florence Levasseur is your
accomplice. And hardly any one dares protest.
"The Prefect of Police? What is the use of his defending you, of his
remembering that you have saved his life twice over and rendered
invaluable services to the police which he is the first to appreciate?
What is the use of his going to the Prime Minister, though we all know
that Valenglay protects you?
"There are others besides the Prefect of Police! There are others besides
the Prime Minister! There's the whole of the detective office, there's
the public prosecutor's staff, there's the examining magistrate, the
press and, above all, public opinion, which has to be satisfied and which
calls for and expects a culprit. That culprit is yourself or Florence
Levasseur. Or, rather, it's you and Florence Levasseur."
Don Luis did not move a muscle of his face. Mazeroux waited a moment
longer. Then, receiving no reply, he made a gesture of despair.
"Chief, do you know what you are compelling me to do? To betray my duty.
Well, let me tell you this: to-morrow morning you will receive a summons
to appear before the examining magistrate. At the end of your
examination, whatever questions may have been put to you and whatever you
may have answered, you will be taken straight to the lockup. The warrant
is signed. That is what your enemies have done."
"The devil!"
"And that's not all. Weber, who is burning to take his revenge, has asked
for permission to watch your house from this day onward, so that you may
not slip away as Florence Levasseur did. He will be here with his men in
an hour's time. What do you say to that, Chief?"
Without abandoning his careless attitude, Don Luis beckoned to Mazeroux.
"Sergeant, just look under that sofa between the windows."
Don Luis was serious. Mazeroux instinctively obeyed. Under the sofa was a
portmanteau.
"Sergeant, in ten minutes, when I have told my servants to go to bed,
carry the portmanteau to 143 _bis_ Rue de Rivoli, where I have taken a
small flat under the name of M. Lecocq."
"What for, Chief? What does it mean?"
"It means that, having no trustworthy person to carry that portmanteau
for me, I have been waiting for your visit for the last three days."
"Why, but--" stammered Mazeroux, in his confusion.
"Why but what?"
"Had you made up your mind to clear out?"
"Of course I had! But why hurry? The reason I placed you in the detective
office was that I might know what was being plotted against me. Since you
tell me that I'm in danger, I shall cut my stick."
And, as Mazeroux looked at him with increasing bewilderment, he tapped
him on the shoulder and said severely:
"You see, Sergeant, that it was not worth while to disguise yourself as a
cab-driver and betray your duty. You should never betray your duty,
Sergeant. Ask your own conscience: I am sure that it will judge you
according to your deserts."
Don Luis had spoken the truth. Recognizing how greatly the deaths of
Marie Fauville and Sauverand had altered the situation, he considered it
wise to move to a place of safety. His excuse for not doing so before was
that he hoped to receive news of Florence Levasseur either by letter or
by telephone. As the girl persisted in keeping silence, there was no
reason why Don Luis should risk an arrest which the course of events made
extremely probable.
And in fact his anticipations were correct. Next morning Mazeroux came to
the little flat in the Rue de Rivoli looking very spry.
"You've had a narrow escape, Chief. Weber heard this morning that the
bird had flown. He's simply furious! And you must confess that the tangle
is getting worse and worse. They're utterly at a loss at headquarters.
They don't even know how to set about prosecuting Florence Levasseur.
"You must have read about it in the papers. The examining magistrate
maintains that, as Fauville committed suicide and killed his son Edmond,
Florence Levasseur has nothing to do with the matter. In his opinion the
case is closed on that side. Well, he's a good one, the examining
magistrate! What about Gaston Sauverand's death? Isn't it as clear as
daylight that Florence had a hand in it, as well as in all the rest?
"Wasn't it in her room, in a volume of Shakespeare, that documents were
found relating to M. Fauville's arrangements about the letters and the
explosion? And then--"
Mazeroux interrupted himself, frightened by the look in Don Luis's eyes
and realizing that the chief was fonder of the girl then ever. Guilty or
not, she inspired him with the same passion.
"All right," said Mazeroux, "we'll say no more about it. The future will
bear me out, you'll see."
* * * * *
The days passed. Mazeroux called as often as possible, or else telephoned
to Don Luis all the details of the two inquiries that were being pursued
at Saint-Lazare and at the Santé Prison.
Vain inquiries, as we know. While Don Luis's statements relating to the
electric chandelier and the automatic distribution of the mysterious
letters were found to be correct, the investigation failed to reveal
anything about the two suicides.
At most, it was ascertained that, before his arrest, Sauverand had tried
to enter into correspondence with Marie through one of the tradesmen
supplying the infirmary. Were they to suppose that the phial of poison
and the hypodermic syringe had been introduced by the same means? It was
impossible to prove; and, on the other hand, it was impossible to
discover how the newspaper cuttings telling of Marie's suicide had found
their way into Gaston Sauverand's cell.
And then the original mystery still remained, the unfathomable mystery of
the marks of teeth in the apple. M. Fauville's posthumous confession
acquitted Marie. And yet it was undoubtedly Marie's teeth that had marked
the apple. The teeth that had been called the teeth of the tiger were
certainly hers. Well, then!
In short, as Mazeroux said, everybody was groping in the dark, so much
so that the Prefect, who was called upon by the will to assemble the
Mornington heirs at a date not less than three nor more than four months
after the testator's decease, suddenly decided that the meeting should
take place in the course of the following week and fixed it for the
ninth of June.
He hoped in this way to put an end to an exasperating case in which the
police displayed nothing but uncertainty and confusion. They would decide
about the inheritance according to circumstances and then close the
proceedings. And gradually people would cease to talk about the wholesale
slaughter of the Mornington heirs; and the mystery of the teeth of the
tiger would be gradually forgotten.
It was strange, but these last days, which were restless and feverish
like all the days that come before great battles--and every one felt that
this last meeting meant a great battle--were spent by Don Luis in an
armchair on his balcony in the Rue de Rivoli, where he sat quietly
smoking cigarettes, or blowing soap-bubbles which the wind carried toward
the garden of the Tuileries.
Mazeroux could not get over it.
"Chief, you astound me! How calm and careless you look!"
"I am calm and careless, Alexandre."
"But what do you mean? Doesn't the case interest you? Don't you intend to
avenge Mme. Fauville and Sauverand? You are openly accused and you sit
here blowing soap-bubbles!"
"There's no more delightful pastime, Alexandre."
"Shall I tell you what I think, Chief? You've discovered the solution of
the mystery!"
"Perhaps I have, Alexandre, and perhaps I haven't."
Nothing seemed to excite Don Luis. Hours and hours passed; and he did not
stir from his balcony. The sparrows now came and ate the crumbs which he
threw to them. It really seemed as if the case was coming to an end for
him and as if everything was turning out perfectly.
But, on the day of the meeting, Mazeroux entered with a letter in his
hand and a scared look on his face.
"This is for you, Chief. It was addressed to me, but with an envelope
inside it in your name. How do you explain that?"
"Quite easily, Alexandre. The enemy is aware of our cordial relations;
and, as he does not know where I am staying--"
"What enemy?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow evening."
Don Luis opened the envelope and read the following words, written
in red ink:
"There's still time, Lupin. Retire from the contest. If not, it means
your death, too. When you think that your object is attained, when your
hand is raised against me and you utter words of triumph, at that same
moment the ground will open beneath your feet. The place of your death is
chosen. The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin."
Don Luis smiled.
"Good," he said. "Things are taking shape,"
"Do you think so, Chief?"
"I do. And who gave you the letter?"
"Ah, we've been lucky for once, Chief! The policeman to whom it was
handed happened to live at Les Ternes, next door to the bearer of the
letter. He knows the fellow well. It was a stroke of luck, wasn't it?"
Don Luis sprang from his seat, radiant with delight.
"What do you mean? Out with it! You know who it is?"
"The chap's an indoor servant employed at a nursing-home in the Avenue
des Ternes."
"Let's go there. We've no time to lose."
"Splendid, Chief! You're yourself again."
"Well, of course! As long as there was nothing to do I was waiting for
this evening and resting, for I can see that the fight will be
tremendous. But, as the enemy has blundered at last, as he's given me a
trail to go upon, there's no need to wait, and I'll get ahead of him.
Have at the tiger, Mazeroux!"
* * * * *
It was one o'clock in the afternoon when Don Luis and Mazeroux arrived at
the nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes. A manservant opened the door.
Mazeroux nudged Don Luis. The man was doubtless the bearer of the letter.
And, in reply to the sergeant's questions, he made no difficulty about
saying that he had been to the police office that morning.
"By whose orders?" asked Mazeroux.
"The mother superior's."
"The mother superior?"
"Yes, the home includes a private hospital, which is managed by nuns."
"Could we speak to the superior?"
"Certainly, but not now: she has gone out."
"When will she be in?"
"Oh, she may be back at any time!"
The man showed them into the waiting-room, where they spent over an hour.
They were greatly puzzled. What did the intervention of that nun mean?
What part was she playing in the case?
People came in and were taken to the patients whom they had called to
see. Others went out. There were also sisters moving silently to and fro
and nurses dressed in their long white overalls belted at the waist.
"We're not doing any good here, Chief," whispered Mazeroux.
"What's your hurry? Is your sweetheart waiting for you?"
"We're wasting our time."
"I'm not wasting mine. The meeting at the Prefect's is not till five."
"What did you say? You're joking, Chief! You surely don't intend to
go to it."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Well, the warrant--"
"The warrant? A scrap of paper!"
"A scrap of paper which will become a serious matter if you force the
police to act. Your presence will be looked upon as a provocation--"
"And my absence as a confession. A gentleman who comes into a hundred
millions does not lie low on the day of the windfall. So I must attend
that meeting, lest I should forfeit my claim. And attend it I will."
"Chief!"
A stifled cry was heard in front of them; and a woman, a nurse, who was
passing through the room, at once started running, lifted a curtain, and
disappeared.
Don Luis rose, hesitating, not knowing what to do. Then, after four or
five seconds of indecision, he suddenly rushed to the curtain and down
a corridor, came up against a large, leather-padded door which had
just closed, and wasted more time in stupidly fumbling at it with
shaking hands.
When he had opened it, he found himself at the foot of a back staircase.
Should he go up it? On the right, the same staircase ran down to the
basement. He went down it, entered a kitchen and, seizing hold of the
cook, said to her, in an angry voice:
"Has a nurse just gone out this way?"
"Do you mean Nurse Gertrude, the new one?"
"Yes, yes, quick! she's wanted upstairs."
"Who wants her?"
"Oh, hang it all, can't you tell me which way she went?"
"Through that door over there."
Don Luis darted away, crossed a little hall, and rushed out on to the
Avenue des Ternes.
"Well, here's a pretty race!" cried Mazeroux, joining him.
Don Luis stood scanning the avenue. A motor bus was starting on the
little square hard by, the Place Saint-Ferdinand.
"She's inside it," he declared. "This time, I shan't let her go."
He hailed a taxi.
"Follow that motor bus, driver, at fifty yards' distance."
"Is it Florence Levasseur?" asked Mazeroux.
"Yes."
"A nice thing!" growled the sergeant. And, yielding to a sudden
outburst: "But, look here, Chief, don't you see? Surely you're not as
blind as all that!"
Don Luis made no reply.
"But, Chief, Florence Levasseur's presence in the nursing-home proves as
clearly as A B C that it was she who told the manservant to bring me that
threatening letter for you! There's not a doubt about it: Florence
Levasseur is managing the whole business.
"You know it as well as I do. Confess! It's possible that, during the
last ten days, you've brought yourself, for love of that woman, to look
upon her as innocent in spite of the overwhelming proofs against her. But
to-day the truth hits you in the eye. I feel it, I'm sure of it. Isn't it
so, Chief? I'm right, am I not? You see it for yourself?"
This time Don Luis did not protest. With a drawn face and set eyes he
watched the motor bus, which at that moment was standing still at the
corner of the Boulevard Haussmann.
"Stop!" he shouted to the driver.
The girl alighted. It was easy to recognize Florence Levasseur under her
nurse's uniform. She cast round her eyes as if to make sure that she was
not being followed, and then took a cab and drove down the boulevard and
the Rue de la Pépinière, to the Gare Saint-Lazare.
Don Luis saw her from a distance climbing the steps that run up from the
Cour de Rome; and, on following her, caught sight of her again at the
ticket office at the end of the waiting hall.
"Quick, Mazeroux!" he said. "Get out your detective card and ask the
clerk what ticket she's taken. Run, before another passenger comes."
Mazeroux hurried and questioned the ticket clerk and returned:
"Second class for Rouen."
"Take one for yourself."
Mazeroux did so. They found that there was an express due to start in a
minute. When they reached the platform Florence was stepping into a
compartment in the middle of the train.
The engine whistled.
"Get in," said Don Luis, hiding himself as best he could. "Telegraph to
me from Rouen; and I'll join you this evening. Above all, keep your
eyes on her. Don't let her slip between your fingers. She's very
clever, you know."
"But why don't you come yourself, Chief? It would be much better--"
"Out of the question. The train doesn't stop before Rouen; and I
couldn't be back till this evening. The meeting at the Prefect's is at
five o'clock."
"And you insist on going?"
"More than ever. There, jump in!"
He pushed him into one of the end carriages. The train started and soon
disappeared in the tunnel.
Then Don Luis flung himself on a bench in a waiting room and remained
there for two hours, pretending to read the newspapers. But his eyes
wandered and his mind was haunted by the agonizing question that once
more forced itself upon him: was Florence guilty or not?
* * * * *
It was five o'clock exactly when Major Comte d'Astrignac, Maître
Lepertuis, and the secretary of the American Embassy were shown into M.
Desmalions's office. At the same moment some one entered the messengers'
room and handed in his card.
The messenger on duty glanced at the pasteboard, turned his head quickly
toward a group of men talking in a corner, and then asked the newcomer:
"Have you an appointment, sir?"
"It's not necessary. Just say that I'm here: Don Luis Perenna."
A kind of electric shock ran through the little group in the corner; and
one of the persons forming it came forward. It was Weber, the deputy
chief detective.
The two men looked each other straight in the eyes. Don Luis smiled
amiably. Weber was livid; he shook in every limb and was plainly striving
to contain himself.
Near him stood a couple of journalists and four detectives.
"By Jove! the beggars are there for me!" thought Don Luis. "But their
confusion shows that they did not believe that I should have the cheek to
come. Are they going to arrest me?"
Weber did not move, but in the end his face expressed a certain
satisfaction as though he were saying:
"I've got you this time, my fine fellow, and you shan't escape me."
The office messenger returned and, without a word, led the way for Don
Luis. Perenna passed in front of Weber with the politest of bows,
bestowed a friendly little nod on the detectives, and entered.
The Comte d'Astrignac hurried up to him at once, with hands outstretched,
thus showing that all the tittle-tattle in no way affected the esteem in
which he continued to hold Private Perenna of the Foreign Legion. But the
Prefect of Police maintained an attitude of reserve which was very
significant. He went on turning over the papers which he was examining
and conversed in a low voice with the solicitor and the American
Secretary of Embassy.
Don Luis thought to himself:
"My dear Lupin, there's some one going to leave this room with the
bracelets on his wrists. If it's not the real culprit, it'll be you, my
poor old chap."
And he remembered the early part of the case, when he was in the workroom
at Fauville's house, before the magistrates, and had either to deliver
the criminal to justice or to incur the penalty of immediate arrest. In
the same way, from the start to the finish of the struggle, he had been
obliged, while fighting the invisible enemy, to expose himself to the
attacks of the law with no means of defending himself except by
indispensable victories.
Harassed by constant onslaughts, never out of danger, he had successively
hurried to their deaths Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, two innocent
people sacrificed to the cruel laws of war. Was he at last about to fight
the real enemy, or would he himself succumb at the decisive moment?
He rubbed his hands with such a cheerful gesture that M. Desmalions
could not help looking at him. Don Luis wore the radiant air of a man
who is experiencing a pure joy and who is preparing to taste others
even greater.
The Prefect of Police remained silent for a moment, as though asking
himself what that devil of a fellow could be so pleased with; then he
fumbled through his papers once more and, in the end, said:
"We have met again, gentlemen, as we did two months ago, to come to a
definite conclusion about the Mornington inheritance. Señor Caceres, the
attaché of the Peruvian legation, will not be here. I have received a
telegram from Italy to tell me that Señor Caceres is seriously ill.
However, his presence was not indispensable. There is no one lacking,
therefore--except those, alas, whose claims this meeting would gladly
have sanctioned, that is to say, Cosmo Mornington's heirs."
"There is one other person absent, Monsieur le Préfet." M. Desmalions
looked up. The speaker was Don Luis. The Prefect hesitated and then
decided to ask him to explain.
"Whom do you mean? What person?"
"The murderer of the Mornington heirs."
This time again Don Luis compelled attention and, in spite of the
resistance which he encountered, obliged the others to take notice of
his presence and to yield to his ascendancy. Whatever happened, they had
to listen to him. Whatever happened, they had to discuss with him things
which seemed incredible, but which were possible because he put them
into words.
"Monsieur le Préfet," he asked, "will you allow me to set forth the facts
of the matter as it now stands? They will form a natural sequel and
conclusion of the interview which we had after the explosion on the
Boulevard Suchet."
M. Desmalions's silence gave Don Luis leave to speak. He at once
continued:
"It will not take long, Monsieur le Préfet. It will not take long for two
reasons: first, because M. Fauville's confessions remain at our disposal
and we know definitely the monstrous part which he played; and, secondly,
because, after all, the truth, however complicated it may seem, is really
very simple.
"It all lies in the objection which you, Monsieur le Préfet, made to me
on leaving the wrecked house on the Boulevard Suchet: 'How is it,' you
asked, 'that the Mornington inheritance is not once mentioned in
Hippolyte Fauville's confession?' It all lies in that, Monsieur le
Préfet. Hippolyte Fauville did not say a word about the inheritance; and
the reason evidently is that he did not know of it.
"And the reason why Gaston Sauverand was able to tell me his whole
sensational story without making the least allusion to the inheritance
was that the inheritance played no sort of part in Gaston Sauverand's
story. He, too, knew nothing of it before those events, any more than
Marie Fauville did, or Florence Levasseur. There is no denying the
fact: Hippolyte Fauville was guided by revenge and by revenge alone.
If not, why should he have acted as he did, seeing that Cosmo
Mornington's millions reverted to him by the fullest of rights?
Besides, if he had wished to enjoy those millions, he would not have
begun by killing himself.
"One thing, therefore, is certain: the inheritance in no way affected
Hippolyte Fauville's resolves or actions. And, nevertheless, one after
the other, with inflexible regularity, as if they had been struck down in
the very order called for by the terms of the Mornington inheritance,
they all disappeared: Cosmo Mornington, then Hippolyte Fauville, then
Edmond Fauville, then Marie Fauville, then Gaston Sauverand. First, the
possessor of the fortune; next, all those whom he had appointed his
legatees; and, I repeat, in the very order in which the will enabled them
to lay claim to the fortune!"
"Is it not strange?" asked Perenna, "and are we not bound to suppose that
there was a controlling mind at the back of it all? Are we not bound to
admit that the formidable contest was influenced by that inheritance, and
that, above the hatred and jealousy of the loathsome Fauville, there
loomed a being endowed with even more tremendous energy, pursuing a
tangible aim and driving to their deaths, one by one, like so many
numbered victims, all the unconscious actors in the tragedy of which he
tied and of which he is now untying the threads?"
Don Luis leaned forward and continued earnestly:
"Monsieur le Préfet, the public instinct so thoroughly agrees with me, a
section of the police, with M. Weber, the deputy chief detective at its
head, argues in a manner so exactly identical with my own, that the
existence of that being is at once confirmed in every mind. There had to
be some one to act as the controlling brain, to provide the will and the
energy. That some one was myself. After all, why not? Did not I possess
the condition which was indispensable to make any one interested in the
murders? Was I not Cosmo Mornington's heir?
"I will not defend myself. It may be that outside interference, it may be
that circumstances, will oblige you, Monsieur le Préfet, to take
unjustifiable measures against me; but I will not insult you by believing
for one second that you can imagine the man whose acts you have been able
to judge for the last two months capable of such crimes. And yet the
public instinct is right in accusing me.
"Apart from Hippolyte Fauville, there is necessarily a criminal; and that
criminal is necessarily Cosmo Mornington's heir. As I am not the man,
another heir of Cosmo Mornington exists. It is he whom I accuse, Monsieur
le Préfet.
"There is something more than a dead man's will in the wicked business
that is being enacted before us. We thought for a time that there was
only that; but there is something more. I have not been fighting a dead
man all the time; more than once I have felt the very breath of life
strike against my face. More than once I have felt the teeth of the tiger
seeking to tear me.
"The dead man did much, but he did not do everything. And, even then, was
he alone in doing what he did? Was the being of whom I speak merely one
who executed his orders? Or was he also the accomplice who helped him in
his scheme? I do not know. But he certainly continued a work which he
perhaps began by inspiring and which, in any case, he turned to his own
profit, resolutely completed and carried out to the very end. And he did
so because he knew of Cosmo Mornington's will. It is he whom I accuse,
Monsieur le Préfet.
"I accuse him at the very least of that part of the crimes and felonies
which cannot be attributed to Hippolyte Fauville. I accuse him of
breaking open the drawer of the desk in which Maître Lepertuis, Cosmo
Mornington's solicitor, had put his client's will. I accuse him of
entering Cosmo Mornington's room and substituting a phial containing a
toxic fluid for one of the phials of glycero-phosphate which Cosmo
Mornington used for his hypodermic injections. I accuse him of playing
the part of a doctor who came to certify Cosmo Mornington's death and of
delivering a false certificate. I accuse him of supplying Hippolyte
Fauville with the poison which killed successively Inspector Vérot,
Edmond Fauville, and Hippolyte Fauville himself. I accuse him of arming
and turning against me the hand of Gaston Sauverand, who, acting under
his advice and his instructions, tried three times to take my life and
ended by causing the death of my chauffeur. I accuse him of profiting by
the relations which Gaston Sauverand had established with the infirmary
in order to communicate with Marie Fauville, and of arranging for Marie
Fauville to receive the hypodermic syringe and the phial of poison with
which the poor woman was able to carry out her plans of suicide."
Perenna paused to note the effect of these charges. Then he went on:
"I accuse him of conveying to Gaston Sauverand, by some unknown means,
the newspaper cuttings about Marie Fauville's death and, at the same
time, foreseeing the inevitable results of his act. To sum up, therefore,
without mentioning his share in the other crimes--the death of Inspector
Vérot, the death of my chauffeur--I accuse him of killing Cosmo
Mornington, Edmond Fauville, Hippolyte Fauville, Marie Fauville, and
Gaston Sauverand; in plain words, of killing all those who stood between
the millions and himself. These last words, Monsieur le Préfet, will tell
you clearly what I have in my mind.
"When a man does away with five of his fellow creatures in order to
secure a certain number of millions, it means that he is convinced that
this proceeding will positively and mathematically insure his entering
into possession of the millions. In short, when a man does away with a
millionaire and his four successive heirs, it means that he himself is
the millionaire's fifth heir. The man will be here in a moment."
"What!"
It was a spontaneous exclamation on the part of the Prefect of Police,
who was forgetting the whole of Don Luis Perenna's powerful and closely
reasoned argument, and thinking only of the stupefying apparition which
Don Luis announced. Don Luis replied:
"Monsieur le Préfet, his visit is the logical outcome of my accusations.
Remember that Cosmo Mornington's will explicitly states that no heir's
claim will be valid unless he is present at to-day's meeting."
"And suppose he does not come?" asked the Prefect, thus showing that Don
Luis's conviction had gradually got the better of his doubts.
"He will come, Monsieur le Préfet. If not, there would have been no sense
in all this business. Limited to the crimes and other actions of
Hippolyte Fauville, it could be looked upon as the preposterous work of a
madman. Continued to the deaths of Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand,
it demands, as its inevitable outcome, the appearance of a person who, as
the last descendant of the Roussels of Saint-Etienne and consequently as
Cosmo Mornington's absolute heir, taking precedence of myself, will come
to claim the hundred millions which he has won by means of his incredible
audacity."
"And suppose he does not come?" M. Desmalions once more exclaimed, in a
more vehement tone.
"Then, Monsieur le Préfet, you may take it that I am the culprit; and you
have only to arrest me. This day, between five and six o'clock, you will
see before you, in this room, the person who killed the Mornington heirs.
It is, humanly speaking, impossible that this should not be so.
Consequently, the law will be satisfied in any circumstances. He or I:
the position is quite simple."
M. Desmalions was silent. He gnawed his moustache thoughtfully and walked
round and round the table, within the narrow circle formed by the others.
It was obvious that objections to the supposition were springing up in
his mind. In the end, he muttered, as though speaking to himself:
"No, no. For, after all, how are we to explain that the man should have
waited until now to claim his rights?"
"An accident, perhaps, Monsieur le Préfet, an obstacle of some kind. Or
else--one can never tell--the perverse longing for a more striking
sensation. And remember, Monsieur le Préfet, how minutely and subtly the
whole business was worked. Each event took place at the very moment
fixed by Hippolyte Fauville. Cannot we take it that his accomplice is
pursuing this method to the end and that he will not reveal himself
until the last minute?"