rget the incidents of the last two days. The grudge
which Weber bore him was now of no avail against Don Luis Perenna.

M. Desmalions, meanwhile, began briefly to review the new solutions, and
he concluded by still discussing certain points.

"Yes, that's it ... there is not the least shadow of a doubt.... We
agree.... It's that and nothing else. Still, one or two things remain
obscure. First of all, the mark of the teeth. This, notwithstanding the
husband's admission, is a fact which we cannot neglect."

"I believe that the explanation is a very simple one, Monsieur le Prefet.
I will give it to you as soon as I am able to support it with the
necessary proofs."

"Very well. But another question: how is it that Weber, yesterday
morning, found that sheet of paper relating to the explosion in Mlle.
Levasseur's room?"

"And how was it," added Don Luis, laughing, "that I found there the list
of the five dates corresponding with the delivery of the letters?"

"So you are of my opinion?" said M. Desmalions. "The part played by Mlle.
Levasseur is at least suspicious."

"I believe that everything will be cleared up, Monsieur le Prefet, and
that you need now only question Mme. Fauville and Gaston Sauverand in
order to dispel these last obscurities and remove all suspicion from
Mlle. Levasseur."

"And then," insisted M. Desmalions, "there is one more fact that strikes
me as odd. Hippolyte Fauville does not once mention the Mornington
inheritance in his confession. Why? Did he not know of it? Are we to
suppose that there is no connection, beyond a mere casual coincidence,
between the series of crimes and that bequest?"

"There, I am entirely of your opinion, Monsieur le Prefet. Hippolyte
Fauville's silence as to that bequest perplexes me a little, I confess.
But all the same I look upon it as comparatively unimportant. The main
thing is Fauville's guilt and the prisoners' innocence."

Don Luis's delight was pure and unbounded. From his point of view, the
sinister tragedy was at an end with the discovery of the confession
written by Hippolyte Fauville. Anything not explained in those lines
would be explained by the details to be supplied by Mme. Fauville,
Florence Levasseur, and Gaston Sauverand. He himself had lost all
interest in the matter.

The car drew up at Saint-Lazare, the wretched, sordid old prison which is
still waiting to be pulled down.

The Prefect jumped out. The door was opened at once.

"Is the priso