ustify
every alarm?

Don Luis caught hold of the deputy chief:

"Come along! I knew it: the man is capable of anything. It's the tiger!
He means to kill her!"

He rushed outside, dragging the deputy toward the two police
motors waiting five hundred yards down. Meanwhile, Mazeroux was
trying to protest:

"It would be better to search the house, to pick up some clues--"

"Oh," shouted Don Luis, increasing his pace, "the house and the clues
will keep! ... But he's gaining ground, the ruffian--and he has Florence
with him--and he's going to kill her! It's a trap! ... I'm sure of it--"

He was shouting in the dark, dragging the two men along with
irresistible force.

They neared the motors.

"Get ready!" he ordered as soon as he was in sight. "I'll drive myself."

He tried to get into the driver's seat. But Weber objected and pushed him
inside, saying:

"Don't trouble--the chauffeur knows his business. He'll drive faster than
you would."

Don Luis, the deputy chief, and two detectives crowded into the cab;
Mazeroux took his seat beside the chauffeur.

"Versailles Road!" roared Don Luis.

The car started; and he continued:

"We've got him! You see, it's a magnificent opportunity. He must be going
pretty fast, but without forcing the pace, because he doesn't think we're
after him. Oh, the villain, we'll make him sit up! Quicker, driver! But
what the devil are we loaded up like this for? You and I, Deputy Chief,
would have been enough. Hi, Mazeroux, get down and jump into the other
car! That'll be better, won't it, Deputy? It's absurd--"

He interrupted himself; and, as he was sitting on the back seat, between
the deputy chief and a detective, he rose toward the window and muttered:

"Why, look here, what's the idiot doing? That's not the road! I say, what
does this mean?"

A roar of laughter was the only answer. It came from Weber, who was
shaking with delight. Don Luis stifled an oath and, making a tremendous
effort, tried to leap from the car. Six hands fell upon him and held him
motionless. The deputy chief had him by the throat. The detectives
clutched his arms. There was no room for him to struggle within the
restricted space of the small car; and he felt the cold iron of a
revolver on his temple.

"None of your nonsense," growled Weber, "or I'll blow out your brains, my
boy! Aha! you didn't expect this! It's Weber's revenge, eh?"

And, when Perenna continued to wriggle, he went on, in a
threaten