aint-Etienne?"

"Yes. But why these questions?"

"Monsieur le Prefet will tell you to-morrow. One word more." He opened
the cardboard box left by Inspector Verot. "Does this cake of chocolate
mean anything to you? These marks?"

"Oh, how awful!" said the civil engineer, in a hoarse tone. "Where did
the inspector find it?"

He dropped into his chair again, but only for a moment; then, drawing
himself up, he hurried toward the door with a jerky step.

"I'm going, Monsieur le Prefet, I'm going. To-morrow morning I'll show
you.... I shall have all the proofs.... And the police will protect
me.... I am ill, I know, but I want to live! I have the right to
live ... and my son, too.... And we will live.... Oh, the scoundrels!--"

And he ran, stumbling out, like a drunken man.

M. Desmalions rose hastily.

"I shall have inquiries made about that man's circumstances.... I shall
have his house watched. I've telephoned to the detective office already.
I'm expecting some one in whom I have every confidence."

Don Luis said:

"Monsieur le Prefet, I beg you, with an earnestness which you will
understand, to authorize me to pursue the investigation. Cosmo
Mornington's will makes it my duty and, allow me to say, gives me the
right to do so. M. Fauville's enemies have given proofs of extraordinary
cleverness and daring. I want to have the honour of being at the post of
danger to-night, at M. Fauville's house, near his person."

The Prefect hesitated. He was bound to reflect how greatly to Don Luis
Perenna's interest it was that none of the Mornington heirs should be
discovered, or at least be able to come between him and the millions
of the inheritance. Was it safe to attribute to a noble sentiment of
gratitude, to a lofty conception of friendship and duty, that strange
longing to protect Hippolyte Fauville against the death that
threatened him?

For some seconds M. Desmalions watched that resolute face, those
intelligent eyes, at once innocent and satirical, grave and smiling, eyes
through which you could certainly not penetrate their owner's baffling
individuality, but which nevertheless looked at you with an expression of
absolute frankness and sincerity. Then he called his secretary:

"Has any one come from the detective office?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Prefet; Sergeant Mazeroux is here."

"Please have him shown in."

And, turning to Perenna:

"Sergeant Mazeroux is one of our smartest detectives. I used to employ
him