enturesome, by the more positive evidence of one of my detectives who
has the case in charge ... and who ought to be here by now."

"Does his evidence bear upon Cosmo Mornington's heirs?" asked the
solicitor.

"Upon the heirs principally, because two days ago he telephoned to me
that he had collected all the particulars, and also upon the very points
which--But wait: I remember that he spoke to my secretary of a murder
committed a month ago to-day.... Now it's a month to-day since Mr. Cosmo
Mornington--"

M. Desmalions pressed hard on a bell. His private secretary at
once appeared.

"Inspector Verot?" asked the Prefect sharply.

"He's not back yet."

"Have him fetched! Have him brought here! He must be found at all costs
and without delay."

He turned to Don Luis Perenna.

"Inspector Verot was here an hour ago, feeling rather unwell, very much
excited, it seems, and declaring that he was being watched and followed.
He said he wanted to make a most important statement to me about the
Mornington case and to warn the police of two murders which are to be
committed to-night ... and which would be a consequence of the murder of
Cosmo Mornington."

"And he was unwell, you say?"

"Yes, ill at ease and even very queer and imagining things. By way of
being prudent, he left a detailed report on the case for me. Well, the
report is simply a blank sheet of letter-paper.

"Here is the paper and the envelope in which I found it, and here is a
cardboard box which he also left behind him. It contains a cake of
chocolate with the marks of teeth on it."

"May I look at the two things you have mentioned, Monsieur le Prefet?"

"Yes, but they won't tell you anything."

"Perhaps so--"

Don Luis examined at length the cardboard box and the yellow envelope,
on which were printed the words, "Cafe du Pont-Neuf." The others awaited
his words as though they were bound to shed an unexpected light. He
merely said:

"The handwriting is not the same on the envelope and the box. The writing
on the envelope is less plain, a little shaky, obviously imitated."

"Which proves--?"

"Which proves, Monsieur le Prefet, that this yellow envelope does not
come from your detective. I presume that, after writing his report at a
table in the Cafe du Pont-Neuf and closing it, he had a moment of
inattention during which somebody substituted for his envelope another
with the same address, but containing a blank sheet of paper."

"That's a sup