g, he had the audacity, under a disguise which made him
look like Sauverand and which was one day to turn suspicion against
Sauverand, he had the audacity and the presence of mind to follow
Inspector Verot to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf, to purloin the letter of
explanation which Inspector Verot wrote you, to substitute a blank sheet
of paper for it, and then to ask a passer-by, who might become a witness
against Sauverand, the way to the nearest underground station for
Neuilly, where Sauverand lived! There's your man, Monsieur le Prefet."

Don Luis spoke with increasing force, with the ardour that springs from
conviction; and his logical and closely argued speech seemed to conjure
up the actual truth,

"There's your man, Monsieur le Prefet," he repeated. "There's your
scoundrel. And the situation in which he found himself was such, the fear
inspired by Inspector Verot's possible revelations was such, that, before
putting into execution the horrible deed which he had planned, he came to
the police office to make sure that his victim was no longer alive and
had not been able to denounce him.

"You remember the scene, Monsieur le Prefet, the fellow's agitation and
fright: 'To-morrow evening,' he said. Yes, it was for the morrow that he
asked for your help, because he knew that everything would be over that
same evening and that next day the police would be confronted with a
murder, with the two culprits against whom he himself had heaped up the
charges, with Marie Fauville, whom he had, so to speak, accused in
advance....

"That was why Sergeant Mazeroux's visit and mine to his house, at nine
o'clock in the evening, embarrassed him so obviously. Who were those
intruders? Would they not succeed in shattering his plan? Reflection
reassured him, even as we, by our insistence, compelled him to give way."

"After all, what he did care?" asked Perenna.

"His measures were so well taken that no amount of watching could destroy
them or even make the watchers aware of them. What was to happen would
happen in our presence and unknown to us. Death, summoned by him, would
do its work.... And the comedy, the tragedy, rather, ran its course. Mme.
Fauville, whom he was sending to the opera, came to say good-night. Then
his servant brought him something to eat, including a dish of apples.
Then followed a fit of rage, the agony of the man who is about to die and
who fears death and a whole scene of deceit, in which he showed us his
safe a