to speak,
guiding his hand. And, in the same way, in appearance, Fauville killed
his son and committed suicide; Marie Fauville committed suicide; Gaston
Sauverand committed suicide. In reality, it was this man who wanted them
dead, who prompted them to commit suicide, and who supplied them with the
means of death.

"There you have the method, and there, Monsieur le Prefet, you have
the man." And, in a lower voice, that contained a sort of
apprehension, he added, "I confess that never before, in the course of
a life that has been full of strange meetings, have I encountered a
more terrifying person, acting with more devilish ability or greater
psychological insight."

His words created an ever-increasing sensation among his hearers. They
really saw that invisible being. He took shape in their imaginations.
They waited for him to arrive. Twice Don Luis had turned to the door and
listened. And his action did more than anything else to conjure up the
image of the man who was coming.

M. Desmalions said:

"Whether he acted in person or caused others to act, the law, once it has
hold of him, will know how to--"

"The law will find it no easy matter, Monsieur le Prefet! A man of his
powers and resource must have foreseen everything, even his arrest, even
the accusation of which he would be the subject; and there is little to
be brought against him but moral charges without proofs."

"Then you think--"

"I think, Monsieur le Prefet, that the thing will be to accept his
explanations as quite natural and not to show any distrust. What you
want is to know who he is. Later on, before long, you will be able to
unmask him."

The Prefect of Police continued to walk round the table. Major
d'Astrignac kept his eyes fixed on Perenna, whose coolness amazed him.
The solicitor and the secretary of Embassy seemed greatly excited. In
fact nothing could be more sensational than the thought that filled all
their minds. Was the abominable murderer about to appear before them?

"Silence!" said the Prefect, stopping his walk.

Some one had crossed the anteroom.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!"

The office messenger entered, carrying a card-tray. On the tray was a
letter; and in addition there was one of those printed slips on which
callers write their name and the object of their visit.

M. Desmalions hastened toward the messenger. He hesitated a moment before
taking up the slip. He was very pale. Then he glanced at