in his hand.

"Monsieur le Prefet, this caller was so persistent.... I hesitated--"

M. Desmalions took the card and uttered an exclamation of mingled
surprise and joy.

"Look, Monsieur," he said to Perenna.

And he handed him the card.

_Hippolyte Fauville,
Civil Engineer.
14 bis Boulevard Suchet._

"Come," said M. Desmalions, "chance is favouring us. If this M. Fauville
is one of the Roussel heirs, our task becomes very much easier."

"In any case, Monsieur le Prefet," the solicitor interposed, "I must
remind you that one of the clauses of the will stipulates that it shall
not be read until forty-eight hours have elapsed. M. Fauville, therefore,
must not be informed--"

The door was pushed open and a man hustled the messenger aside and
rushed in.

"Inspector ... Inspector Verot?" he spluttered. "He's dead, isn't he? I
was told--"

"Yes, Monsieur, he is dead."

"Too late! I'm too late!" he stammered.

And he sank into a chair, clasping his hands and sobbing:

"Oh, the scoundrels! the scoundrels!"

He was a pale, hollow-cheeked, sickly looking man of about fifty.
His head was bald, above a forehead lined with deep wrinkles. A
nervous twitching affected his chin and the lobes of his ears. Tears
stood in his eyes.

The Prefect asked:

"Whom do you mean, Monsieur? Inspector Verot's murderers? Are you able to
name them, to assist our inquiry?"

Hippolyte Fauville shook his head.

"No, no, it would be useless, for the moment.... My proofs would not be
sufficient.... No, really not."

He had already risen from his chair and stood apologizing:

"Monsieur le Prefet, I have disturbed you unnecessarily, but I wanted to
know.... I was hoping that Inspector Verot might have escaped.... His
evidence, joined to mine, would have been invaluable. But perhaps he was
able to tell you?"

"No, he spoke of this evening--of to-night--"

Hippolyte Fauville started.

"This evening! Then the time has come!... But no, it's impossible, they
can't do anything to me yet.... They are not ready--"

"Inspector Verot declared, however, that the double murder would be
committed to-night."

"No, Monsieur le Prefet, he was wrong there.... I know all about
it.... To-morrow evening at the earliest ... and we will catch them in a
trap.... Oh, the scoundrels!"

Don Luis went up to him and asked:

"Your mother's name was Ermeline Roussel, was it not?"

"Yes, Ermeline Roussel. She is dead now."

"And she was from S