He raised the lid. Inside the box were a few layers of cotton wool, which
were also rather dirty, and in between these layers was half a cake of
chocolate.

"What the devil does this mean?" growled the Prefect in surprise.

He took the chocolate, looked at it, and at once perceived what was
peculiar about this cake of chocolate, which was also undoubtedly the
reason why Inspector Verot had kept it. Above and below, it bore the
prints of teeth, very plainly marked, very plainly separated one from the
other, penetrating to a depth of a tenth of an inch or so into the
chocolate. Each possessed its individual shape and width, and each was
divided from its neighbours by a different interval. The jaws which had
started eating the cake of chocolate had dug into it the mark of four
upper and five lower teeth.

M. Desmalions remained wrapped in thought and, with his head sunk on his
chest, for some minutes resumed his walk up and down the room, muttering:

"This is queer ... There's a riddle here to which I should like to know
the answer. That sheet of paper, the marks of those teeth: what does it
all mean?"

But he was not the man to waste much time over a mystery which was bound
to be cleared up presently, as Inspector Verot must be either at the
police office or somewhere just outside; and he said to his secretary:

"I can't keep those five gentlemen waiting any longer. Please have them
shown in now. If Inspector Verot arrives while they are here, as he is
sure to do, let me know at once. I want to see him as soon as he comes.
Except for that, see that I'm not disturbed on any pretext, won't you?"

* * * * *

Two minutes later the messenger showed in Maitre Lepertuis, a stout,
red-faced man, with whiskers and spectacles, followed by Archibald
Bright, the Secretary of Embassy, and Caceres, the Peruvian attache. M.
Desmalions, who knew all three of them, chatted to them until he stepped
forward to receive Major Comte d'Astrignac, the hero of La Chouia, who
had been forced into premature retirement by his glorious wounds. The
Prefect was complimenting him warmly on his gallant conduct in Morocco
when the door opened once more.

"Don Luis Perenna, I believe?" said the Prefect, offering his hand to a
man of middle height and rather slender build, wearing the military medal
and the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour.

The newcomer's face and expression, his way of holding himself, and h