had never announced anything that did not take place at the
stated hour. And, although it was still ten days--at least, so people
thought--from the date fixed for the catastrophe, the threat made the
whole business look more and more sinister.

That evening, therefore, a great crowd made its way, through La Muette
and Auteuil, to the Boulevard Suchet, a crowd coming not only from Paris,
but also from the suburbs and the provinces. The spectacle was exciting,
and people wanted to see.

They saw only from a distance, for the police had barred the approaches
a hundred yards from either side of the house and were driving into the
ditches of the fortifications all those who managed to climb the
opposite slope.

The sky was stormy, with heavy clouds revealed at intervals by the light
of a silver moon. There were lightning-flashes and peals of distant
thunder. Men sang. Street-boys imitated the noises of animals. People
formed themselves into groups on the benches and pavements and ate and
drank while discussing the matter.

A part of the night was spent in this way and nothing happened to reward
the patience of the crowd, who began to wonder, somewhat wearily, if they
would not do better to go home, seeing that Sauverand was in prison and
that there was every chance that the fourth letter would not appear in
the same mysterious way as the others.

And yet they did not go: Don Luis Perenna was due to come!

From ten o'clock in the evening the Prefect of Police and his secretary
general, the chief detective and Weber, his deputy, Sergeant Mazeroux,
and two detectives were gathered in the large room in which Fauville had
been murdered. Fifteen more detectives occupied the remaining rooms,
while some twenty others watched the roofs, the outside of the house, and
the garden.

Once again a thorough search had been made during the afternoon, with no
better results than before. But it was decided that all the men should
keep awake. If the letter was delivered anywhere in the big room, they
wanted to know and they meant to know who brought it. The police do not
recognize miracles.

At twelve o'clock M. Desmalions had coffee served to his subordinates. He
himself took two cups and never ceased walking from one end to the other
of the room, or climbing the staircase that led to the attic, or going
through the passage and hall. Preferring that the watch should be
maintained under the most favourable conditions, he left all the