few unintelligible syllables, and fell huddled into a chair, sobbing
convulsively and uttering cries of despair.

It was tantamount to a confession. At the very least, it was a confession
of her inability to supply the plausible explanation which would have put
an end to the discussion.

The Prefect of Police moved away from her and spoke in a low voice to the
examining magistrate and the public prosecutor. Perenna and Sergeant
Mazeroux were left alone together, side by side.

Mazeroux whispered:

"What did I tell you? I knew you would find out! Oh, what a man you are!
The way you managed!"

He was beaming at the thought that the chief was clear of the matter and
that he had no more crows to pluck with his, Mazeroux's, superiors, whom
he revered almost as much as he did the chief. Everybody was now agreed;
they were "friends all round"; and Mazeroux was choking with delight.

"They'll lock her up, eh?"

"No," said Perenna. "There's not enough 'hold' on her for them to issue
a warrant."

"What!" growled Mazeroux indignantly. "Not enough hold? I hope, in any
case, that you won't let her go. She made no bones, you know, about
attacking you! Come, Chief, polish her off, a she-devil like that!"

Don Luis remained pensive. He was thinking of the unheard-of
coincidences, the accumulation of facts that bore down on Mme. Fauville
from every side. And the decisive proof which would join all these
different facts together and give to the accusation the grounds which it
still lacked was one which Perenna was able to supply. This was the marks
of the teeth in the apple hidden among the shrubs in the garden. To the
police these would be as good as any fingerprint, all the more as they
could compare the marks with those on the cake of chocolate.

Nevertheless, he hesitated; and, concentrating his anxious attention, he
watched, with mingled feelings of pity and repulsion, that woman who, to
all seeming, had killed her husband and her husband's son. Was he to give
her the finishing stroke? Had he the right to play the part of judge? And
supposing he were wrong?

* * * * *

Meantime, M. Desmalions had walked up to him and, while pretending to
speak to Mazeroux, was really asking Perenna:

"What do you think of it?"

Mazeroux shook his head. Perenna replied:

"I think, Monsieur le Prefet, that, if this woman is guilty, she is
defending herself, for all her cleverness, with inconceivable l