CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS
On the fourth evening after the tragic events related, an oldcab-driver, almost entirely hidden in a huge great-coat, rang atPerenna's door and sent up a letter to Don Luis. He was at once showninto the study on the first floor. Hardly taking time to throw off hisgreat-coat, he rushed at Don Luis:
"It's all up with you this time, Chief!" he exclaimed. "This is no momentfor joking: pack up your trunks and be off as quick as you can!"
Don Luis, who sat quietly smoking in an easy chair, answered:
"Which will you have, Mazeroux? A cigar or a cigarette?"
Mazeroux at once grew indignant.
"But look here, Chief, don't you read the papers?"
"Worse luck!"
"In that case, the situation must appear as clear to you as it does to meand everybody else. During the last three days, since the double suicide,or, rather, the double murder of Marie Fauville and her cousin GastonSauverand, there hasn't been a newspaper but has said this kind of thing:'And, now that M. Fauville, his son, his wife, and his cousin GastonSauverand are dead, there's nothing standing between Don Luis Perenna andthe Mornington inheritance!'
"Do you understand what that means? Of course, people speak of theexplosion on the Boulevard Suchet and of Fauville's posthumousrevelations; and they are disgusted with that dirty brute of a Fauville;and they don't know how to praise your cleverness enough. But there isone fact that forms the main subject of every conversation and everydiscussion.
"Now that the three branches of the Roussel family are extinct, whoremains? Don Luis Perenna. In default of the natural heirs, who inheritsthe property? Don Luis Perenna."
"Lucky dog!"
"That's what people are saying, Chief. They say that this series ofmurders and atrocities cannot be the effort of chance coincidences, but,on the contrary, points to the existence of an all-powerful will whichbegan with the murder of Cosmo Mornington and ended with the capture ofthe hundred millions. And to give a name to that will, they pitch on thenearest, that of the extraordinary, glorious, ill-famed, bewildering,mysterious, omnipotent, and ubiquitous person who was Cosmo Mornington'sintimate friend and who, from the beginning, has controlled events andpieced them together, accusing and acquitting people, getting themarrested, and helping them to escape.
"They say," he went on hurriedly, "that he manages the whole business andthat, if he works it in accordance with his interests, there are ahundred millions waiting for him at the finish. And this person is DonLuis Perenna, in other words, Arsene Lupin, the man with the unsavouryreputation whom it would be madness not to think of in connection with socolossal a job."
"Thank you!"
"That's what they say, Chief; I'm only telling you. As long as Mme.Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were alive, people did not give muchthought to your claims as residuary legatee. But both of them died. Then,you see, people can't help remarking the really surprising persistencewith which luck looks after Don Luis Perenna's interests. You know thelegal maxim: _fecit cui prodest_. Who benefits by the disappearance ofall the Roussel heirs? Don Luis Perenna."
"The scoundrel!"
"The scoundrel: that's the word which Weber goes roaring out all alongthe passages of the police office and the criminal investigationdepartment. You are the scoundrel and Florence Levasseur is youraccomplice. And hardly any one dares protest.
"The Prefect of Police? What is the use of his defending you, of hisremembering that you have saved his life twice over and renderedinvaluable services to the police which he is the first to appreciate?What is the use of his going to the Prime Minister, though we all knowthat Valenglay protects you?
"There are others besides the Prefect of Police! There are others besidesthe Prime Minister! There's the whole of the detective office, there'sthe public prosecutor's staff, there's the examining magistrate, thepress and, above all, public opinion, which has to be satisfied and whichcalls for and expects a culprit. That culprit is yourself or FlorenceLevasseur. Or, rather, it's you and Florence Levasseur."
Don Luis did not move a muscle of his face. Mazeroux waited a momentlonger. Then, receiving no reply, he made a gesture of despair.
"Chief, do you know what you are compelling me to do? To betray my duty.Well, let me tell you this: to-morrow morning you will receive a summonsto appear before the examining magistrate. At the end of yourexamination, whatever questions may have been put to you and whatever youmay have answered, you will be taken straight to the lockup. The warrantis signed. That is what your enemies have done."
"The devil!"
"And that's not all. Weber, who is burning to take his revenge, has askedfor permission to watch your house from this day onward, so that you maynot slip away as Florence Levasseur did. He will be here with his men inan hour's time. What do you say to that, Chief?"
Without abandoning his careless attitude, Don Luis beckoned to Mazeroux.
"Sergeant, just look under that sofa between the windows."
Don Luis was serious. Mazeroux instinctively obeyed. Under the sofa was aportmanteau.
"Sergeant, in ten minutes, when I have told my servants to go to bed,carry the portmanteau to 143 _bis_ Rue de Rivoli, where I have taken asmall flat under the name of M. Lecocq."
"What for, Chief? What does it mean?"
"It means that, having no trustworthy person to carry that portmanteaufor me, I have been waiting for your visit for the last three days."
"Why, but--" stammered Mazeroux, in his confusion.
"Why but what?"
"Had you made up your mind to clear out?"
"Of course I had! But why hurry? The reason I placed you in the detectiveoffice was that I might know what was being plotted against me. Since youtell me that I'm in danger, I shall cut my stick."
And, as Mazeroux looked at him with increasing bewilderment, he tappedhim on the shoulder and said severely:
"You see, Sergeant, that it was not worth while to disguise yourself as acab-driver and betray your duty. You should never betray your duty,Sergeant. Ask your own conscience: I am sure that it will judge youaccording to your deserts."
Don Luis had spoken the truth. Recognizing how greatly the deaths ofMarie Fauville and Sauverand had altered the situation, he considered itwise to move to a place of safety. His excuse for not doing so before wasthat he hoped to receive news of Florence Levasseur either by letter orby telephone. As the girl persisted in keeping silence, there was noreason why Don Luis should risk an arrest which the course of events madeextremely probable.
And in fact his anticipations were correct. Next morning Mazeroux came tothe little flat in the Rue de Rivoli looking very spry.
"You've had a narrow escape, Chief. Weber heard this morning that thebird had flown. He's simply furious! And you must confess that the tangleis getting worse and worse. They're utterly at a loss at headquarters.They don't even know how to set about prosecuting Florence Levasseur.
"You must have read about it in the papers. The examining magistratemaintains that, as Fauville committed suicide and killed his son Edmond,Florence Levasseur has nothing to do with the matter. In his opinion thecase is closed on that side. Well, he's a good one, the examiningmagistrate! What about Gaston Sauverand's death? Isn't it as clear asdaylight that Florence had a hand in it, as well as in all the rest?
"Wasn't it in her room, in a volume of Shakespeare, that documents werefound relating to M. Fauville's arrangements about the letters and theexplosion? And then--"
Mazeroux interrupted himself, frightened by the look in Don Luis's eyesand realizing that the chief was fonder of the girl then ever. Guilty ornot, she inspired him with the same passion.
"All right," said Mazeroux, "we'll say no more about it. The future willbear me out, you'll see."
* * * * *
The days passed. Mazeroux called as often as possible, or else telephonedto Don Luis all the details of the two inquiries that were being pursuedat Saint
-Lazare and at the Sante Prison.
Vain inquiries, as we know. While Don Luis's statements relating to theelectric chandelier and the automatic distribution of the mysteriousletters were found to be correct, the investigation failed to revealanything about the two suicides.
At most, it was ascertained that, before his arrest, Sauverand had triedto enter into correspondence with Marie through one of the tradesmensupplying the infirmary. Were they to suppose that the phial of poisonand the hypodermic syringe had been introduced by the same means? It wasimpossible to prove; and, on the other hand, it was impossible todiscover how the newspaper cuttings telling of Marie's suicide had foundtheir way into Gaston Sauverand's cell.
And then the original mystery still remained, the unfathomable mystery ofthe marks of teeth in the apple. M. Fauville's posthumous confessionacquitted Marie. And yet it was undoubtedly Marie's teeth that had markedthe apple. The teeth that had been called the teeth of the tiger werecertainly hers. Well, then!
In short, as Mazeroux said, everybody was groping in the dark, so muchso that the Prefect, who was called upon by the will to assemble theMornington heirs at a date not less than three nor more than four monthsafter the testator's decease, suddenly decided that the meeting shouldtake place in the course of the following week and fixed it for theninth of June.
He hoped in this way to put an end to an exasperating case in which thepolice displayed nothing but uncertainty and confusion. They would decideabout the inheritance according to circumstances and then close theproceedings. And gradually people would cease to talk about the wholesaleslaughter of the Mornington heirs; and the mystery of the teeth of thetiger would be gradually forgotten.
It was strange, but these last days, which were restless and feverishlike all the days that come before great battles--and every one felt thatthis last meeting meant a great battle--were spent by Don Luis in anarmchair on his balcony in the Rue de Rivoli, where he sat quietlysmoking cigarettes, or blowing soap-bubbles which the wind carried towardthe garden of the Tuileries.
Mazeroux could not get over it.
"Chief, you astound me! How calm and careless you look!"
"I am calm and careless, Alexandre."
"But what do you mean? Doesn't the case interest you? Don't you intend toavenge Mme. Fauville and Sauverand? You are openly accused and you sithere blowing soap-bubbles!"
"There's no more delightful pastime, Alexandre."
"Shall I tell you what I think, Chief? You've discovered the solution ofthe mystery!"
"Perhaps I have, Alexandre, and perhaps I haven't."
Nothing seemed to excite Don Luis. Hours and hours passed; and he did notstir from his balcony. The sparrows now came and ate the crumbs which hethrew to them. It really seemed as if the case was coming to an end forhim and as if everything was turning out perfectly.
But, on the day of the meeting, Mazeroux entered with a letter in hishand and a scared look on his face.
"This is for you, Chief. It was addressed to me, but with an envelopeinside it in your name. How do you explain that?"
"Quite easily, Alexandre. The enemy is aware of our cordial relations;and, as he does not know where I am staying--"
"What enemy?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow evening."
Don Luis opened the envelope and read the following words, writtenin red ink:
"There's still time, Lupin. Retire from the contest. If not, it meansyour death, too. When you think that your object is attained, when yourhand is raised against me and you utter words of triumph, at that samemoment the ground will open beneath your feet. The place of your death ischosen. The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin."
Don Luis smiled.
"Good," he said. "Things are taking shape,"
"Do you think so, Chief?"
"I do. And who gave you the letter?"
"Ah, we've been lucky for once, Chief! The policeman to whom it washanded happened to live at Les Ternes, next door to the bearer of theletter. He knows the fellow well. It was a stroke of luck, wasn't it?"
Don Luis sprang from his seat, radiant with delight.
"What do you mean? Out with it! You know who it is?"
"The chap's an indoor servant employed at a nursing-home in the Avenuedes Ternes."
"Let's go there. We've no time to lose."
"Splendid, Chief! You're yourself again."
"Well, of course! As long as there was nothing to do I was waiting forthis evening and resting, for I can see that the fight will betremendous. But, as the enemy has blundered at last, as he's given me atrail to go upon, there's no need to wait, and I'll get ahead of him.Have at the tiger, Mazeroux!"
* * * * *
It was one o'clock in the afternoon when Don Luis and Mazeroux arrived atthe nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes. A manservant opened the door.Mazeroux nudged Don Luis. The man was doubtless the bearer of the letter.And, in reply to the sergeant's questions, he made no difficulty aboutsaying that he had been to the police office that morning.
"By whose orders?" asked Mazeroux.
"The mother superior's."
"The mother superior?"
"Yes, the home includes a private hospital, which is managed by nuns."
"Could we speak to the superior?"
"Certainly, but not now: she has gone out."
"When will she be in?"
"Oh, she may be back at any time!"
The man showed them into the waiting-room, where they spent over an hour.They were greatly puzzled. What did the intervention of that nun mean?What part was she playing in the case?
People came in and were taken to the patients whom they had called tosee. Others went out. There were also sisters moving silently to and froand nurses dressed in their long white overalls belted at the waist.
"We're not doing any good here, Chief," whispered Mazeroux.
"What's your hurry? Is your sweetheart waiting for you?"
"We're wasting our time."
"I'm not wasting mine. The meeting at the Prefect's is not till five."
"What did you say? You're joking, Chief! You surely don't intend togo to it."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Well, the warrant--"
"The warrant? A scrap of paper!"
"A scrap of paper which will become a serious matter if you force thepolice to act. Your presence will be looked upon as a provocation--"
"And my absence as a confession. A gentleman who comes into a hundredmillions does not lie low on the day of the windfall. So I must attendthat meeting, lest I should forfeit my claim. And attend it I will."
"Chief!"
A stifled cry was heard in front of them; and a woman, a nurse, who waspassing through the room, at once started running, lifted a curtain, anddisappeared.
Don Luis rose, hesitating, not knowing what to do. Then, after four orfive seconds of indecision, he suddenly rushed to the curtain and downa corridor, came up against a large, leather-padded door which hadjust closed, and wasted more time in stupidly fumbling at it withshaking hands.
When he had opened it, he found himself at the foot of a back staircase.Should he go up it? On the right, the same staircase ran down to thebasement. He went down it, entered a kitchen and, seizing hold of thecook, said to her, in an angry voice:
"Has a nurse just gone out this way?"
"Do you mean Nurse Gertrude, the new one?"
"Yes, yes, quick! she's wanted upstairs."
"Who wants her?"
"Oh, hang it all, can't you tell me which way she went?"
"Through that door over there."
Don Luis darted away, crossed a little hall, and rushed out on to theAvenue des Ternes.
"Well, here's a pretty race!" cried Mazeroux, joining him.
Don Luis stood scanning the avenue. A motor bus was starting on thelittle square hard by, the Place Saint-Ferdinand.
"She's inside it," he declared. "This time, I shan't let her go."
He hailed a taxi.
r /> "Follow that motor bus, driver, at fifty yards' distance."
"Is it Florence Levasseur?" asked Mazeroux.
"Yes."
"A nice thing!" growled the sergeant. And, yielding to a suddenoutburst: "But, look here, Chief, don't you see? Surely you're not asblind as all that!"
Don Luis made no reply.
"But, Chief, Florence Levasseur's presence in the nursing-home proves asclearly as A B C that it was she who told the manservant to bring me thatthreatening letter for you! There's not a doubt about it: FlorenceLevasseur is managing the whole business.
"You know it as well as I do. Confess! It's possible that, during thelast ten days, you've brought yourself, for love of that woman, to lookupon her as innocent in spite of the overwhelming proofs against her. Butto-day the truth hits you in the eye. I feel it, I'm sure of it. Isn't itso, Chief? I'm right, am I not? You see it for yourself?"
This time Don Luis did not protest. With a drawn face and set eyes hewatched the motor bus, which at that moment was standing still at thecorner of the Boulevard Haussmann.
"Stop!" he shouted to the driver.
The girl alighted. It was easy to recognize Florence Levasseur under hernurse's uniform. She cast round her eyes as if to make sure that she wasnot being followed, and then took a cab and drove down the boulevard andthe Rue de la Pepiniere, to the Gare Saint-Lazare.
Don Luis saw her from a distance climbing the steps that run up from theCour de Rome; and, on following her, caught sight of her again at theticket office at the end of the waiting hall.
"Quick, Mazeroux!" he said. "Get out your detective card and ask theclerk what ticket she's taken. Run, before another passenger comes."
Mazeroux hurried and questioned the ticket clerk and returned:
"Second class for Rouen."
"Take one for yourself."
Mazeroux did so. They found that there was an express due to start in aminute. When they reached the platform Florence was stepping into acompartment in the middle of the train.
The engine whistled.
"Get in," said Don Luis, hiding himself as best he could. "Telegraph tome from Rouen; and I'll join you this evening. Above all, keep youreyes on her. Don't let her slip between your fingers. She's veryclever, you know."
"But why don't you come yourself, Chief? It would be much better--"
"Out of the question. The train doesn't stop before Rouen; and Icouldn't be back till this evening. The meeting at the Prefect's is atfive o'clock."
"And you insist on going?"
"More than ever. There, jump in!"
He pushed him into one of the end carriages. The train started and soondisappeared in the tunnel.
Then Don Luis flung himself on a bench in a waiting room and remainedthere for two hours, pretending to read the newspapers. But his eyeswandered and his mind was haunted by the agonizing question that oncemore forced itself upon him: was Florence guilty or not?
* * * * *
It was five o'clock exactly when Major Comte d'Astrignac, MaitreLepertuis, and the secretary of the American Embassy were shown into M.Desmalions's office. At the same moment some one entered the messengers'room and handed in his card.
The messenger on duty glanced at the pasteboard, turned his head quicklytoward a group of men talking in a corner, and then asked the newcomer:
"Have you an appointment, sir?"
"It's not necessary. Just say that I'm here: Don Luis Perenna."
A kind of electric shock ran through the little group in the corner; andone of the persons forming it came forward. It was Weber, the deputychief detective.
The two men looked each other straight in the eyes. Don Luis smiledamiably. Weber was livid; he shook in every limb and was plainly strivingto contain himself.
Near him stood a couple of journalists and four detectives.
"By Jove! the beggars are there for me!" thought Don Luis. "But theirconfusion shows that they did not believe that I should have the cheek tocome. Are they going to arrest me?"
Weber did not move, but in the end his face expressed a certainsatisfaction as though he were saying:
"I've got you this time, my fine fellow, and you shan't escape me."
The office messenger returned and, without a word, led the way for DonLuis. Perenna passed in front of Weber with the politest of bows,bestowed a friendly little nod on the detectives, and entered.
The Comte d'Astrignac hurried up to him at once, with hands outstretched,thus showing that all the tittle-tattle in no way affected the esteem inwhich he continued to hold Private Perenna of the Foreign Legion. But thePrefect of Police maintained an attitude of reserve which was verysignificant. He went on turning over the papers which he was examiningand conversed in a low voice with the solicitor and the AmericanSecretary of Embassy.
Don Luis thought to himself:
"My dear Lupin, there's some one going to leave this room with thebracelets on his wrists. If it's not the real culprit, it'll be you, mypoor old chap."
And he remembered the early part of the case, when he was in the workroomat Fauville's house, before the magistrates, and had either to deliverthe criminal to justice or to incur the penalty of immediate arrest. Inthe same way, from the start to the finish of the struggle, he had beenobliged, while fighting the invisible enemy, to expose himself to theattacks of the law with no means of defending himself except byindispensable victories.
Harassed by constant onslaughts, never out of danger, he had successivelyhurried to their deaths Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, two innocentpeople sacrificed to the cruel laws of war. Was he at last about to fightthe real enemy, or would he himself succumb at the decisive moment?
He rubbed his hands with such a cheerful gesture that M. Desmalionscould not help looking at him. Don Luis wore the radiant air of a manwho is experiencing a pure joy and who is preparing to taste otherseven greater.
The Prefect of Police remained silent for a moment, as though askinghimself what that devil of a fellow could be so pleased with; then hefumbled through his papers once more and, in the end, said:
"We have met again, gentlemen, as we did two months ago, to come to adefinite conclusion about the Mornington inheritance. Senor Caceres, theattache of the Peruvian legation, will not be here. I have received atelegram from Italy to tell me that Senor Caceres is seriously ill.However, his presence was not indispensable. There is no one lacking,therefore--except those, alas, whose claims this meeting would gladlyhave sanctioned, that is to say, Cosmo Mornington's heirs."
"There is one other person absent, Monsieur le Prefet." M. Desmalionslooked up. The speaker was Don Luis. The Prefect hesitated and thendecided to ask him to explain.
"Whom do you mean? What person?"
"The murderer of the Mornington heirs."
This time again Don Luis compelled attention and, in spite of theresistance which he encountered, obliged the others to take notice ofhis presence and to yield to his ascendancy. Whatever happened, they hadto listen to him. Whatever happened, they had to discuss with him thingswhich seemed incredible, but which were possible because he put theminto words.
"Monsieur le Prefet," he asked, "will you allow me to set forth the factsof the matter as it now stands? They will form a natural sequel andconclusion of the interview which we had after the explosion on theBoulevard Suchet."
M. Desmalions's silence gave Don Luis leave to speak. He at oncecontinued:
"It will not take long, Monsieur le Prefet. It will not take long for tworeasons: first, because M. Fauville's confessions remain at our disposaland we know definitely the monstrous part which he played; and, secondly,because, after all, the truth, however complicated it may seem, is reallyvery simple.
"It all lies in the objection which you, Monsieur le Prefet, made to meon leaving the wrecked house on the Boulevard Suchet: 'How is it,' youasked, 'that the Mornington inheritance is not once mentioned inHippolyte Fauville's confession?' It all lies in that, Monsieur lePrefet. Hip
polyte Fauville did not say a word about the inheritance; andthe reason evidently is that he did not know of it.
"And the reason why Gaston Sauverand was able to tell me his wholesensational story without making the least allusion to the inheritancewas that the inheritance played no sort of part in Gaston Sauverand'sstory. He, too, knew nothing of it before those events, any more thanMarie Fauville did, or Florence Levasseur. There is no denying thefact: Hippolyte Fauville was guided by revenge and by revenge alone.If not, why should he have acted as he did, seeing that CosmoMornington's millions reverted to him by the fullest of rights?Besides, if he had wished to enjoy those millions, he would not havebegun by killing himself.
"One thing, therefore, is certain: the inheritance in no way affectedHippolyte Fauville's resolves or actions. And, nevertheless, one afterthe other, with inflexible regularity, as if they had been struck down inthe very order called for by the terms of the Mornington inheritance,they all disappeared: Cosmo Mornington, then Hippolyte Fauville, thenEdmond Fauville, then Marie Fauville, then Gaston Sauverand. First, thepossessor of the fortune; next, all those whom he had appointed hislegatees; and, I repeat, in the very order in which the will enabled themto lay claim to the fortune!"
"Is it not strange?" asked Perenna, "and are we not bound to suppose thatthere was a controlling mind at the back of it all? Are we not bound toadmit that the formidable contest was influenced by that inheritance, andthat, above the hatred and jealousy of the loathsome Fauville, thereloomed a being endowed with even more tremendous energy, pursuing atangible aim and driving to their deaths, one by one, like so manynumbered victims, all the unconscious actors in the tragedy of which hetied and of which he is now untying the threads?"
Don Luis leaned forward and continued earnestly:
"Monsieur le Prefet, the public instinct so thoroughly agrees with me, asection of the police, with M. Weber, the deputy chief detective at itshead, argues in a manner so exactly identical with my own, that theexistence of that being is at once confirmed in every mind. There had tobe some one to act as the controlling brain, to provide the will and theenergy. That some one was myself. After all, why not? Did not I possessthe condition which was indispensable to make any one interested in themurders? Was I not Cosmo Mornington's heir?
"I will not defend myself. It may be that outside interference, it may bethat circumstances, will oblige you, Monsieur le Prefet, to takeunjustifiable measures against me; but I will not insult you by believingfor one second that you can imagine the man whose acts you have been ableto judge for the last two months capable of such crimes. And yet thepublic instinct is right in accusing me.
"Apart from Hippolyte Fauville, there is necessarily a criminal; and thatcriminal is necessarily Cosmo Mornington's heir. As I am not the man,another heir of Cosmo Mornington exists. It is he whom I accuse, Monsieurle Prefet.
"There is something more than a dead man's will in the wicked businessthat is being enacted before us. We thought for a time that there wasonly that; but there is something more. I have not been fighting a deadman all the time; more than once I have felt the very breath of lifestrike against my face. More than once I have felt the teeth of the tigerseeking to tear me.
"The dead man did much, but he did not do everything. And, even then, washe alone in doing what he did? Was the being of whom I speak merely onewho executed his orders? Or was he also the accomplice who helped him inhis scheme? I do not know. But he certainly continued a work which heperhaps began by inspiring and which, in any case, he turned to his ownprofit, resolutely completed and carried out to the very end. And he didso because he knew of Cosmo Mornington's will. It is he whom I accuse,Monsieur le Prefet.
"I accuse him at the very least of that part of the crimes and felonieswhich cannot be attributed to Hippolyte Fauville. I accuse him ofbreaking open the drawer of the desk in which Maitre Lepertuis, CosmoMornington's solicitor, had put his client's will. I accuse him ofentering Cosmo Mornington's room and substituting a phial containing atoxic fluid for one of the phials of glycero-phosphate which CosmoMornington used for his hypodermic injections. I accuse him of playingthe part of a doctor who came to certify Cosmo Mornington's death and ofdelivering a false certificate. I accuse him of supplying HippolyteFauville with the poison which killed successively Inspector Verot,Edmond Fauville, and Hippolyte Fauville himself. I accuse him of armingand turning against me the hand of Gaston Sauverand, who, acting underhis advice and his instructions, tried three times to take my life andended by causing the death of my chauffeur. I accuse him of profiting bythe relations which Gaston Sauverand had established with the infirmaryin order to communicate with Marie Fauville, and of arranging for MarieFauville to receive the hypodermic syringe and the phial of poison withwhich the poor woman was able to carry out her plans of suicide."
Perenna paused to note the effect of these charges. Then he went on:
"I accuse him of conveying to Gaston Sauverand, by some unknown means,the newspaper cuttings about Marie Fauville's death and, at the sametime, foreseeing the inevitable results of his act. To sum up, therefore,without mentioning his share in the other crimes--the death of InspectorVerot, the death of my chauffeur--I accuse him of killing CosmoMornington, Edmond Fauville, Hippolyte Fauville, Marie Fauville, andGaston Sauverand; in plain words, of killing all those who stood betweenthe millions and himself. These last words, Monsieur le Prefet, will tellyou clearly what I have in my mind.
"When a man does away with five of his fellow creatures in order tosecure a certain number of millions, it means that he is convinced thatthis proceeding will positively and mathematically insure his enteringinto possession of the millions. In short, when a man does away with amillionaire and his four successive heirs, it means that he himself isthe millionaire's fifth heir. The man will be here in a moment."
"What!"
It was a spontaneous exclamation on the part of the Prefect of Police,who was forgetting the whole of Don Luis Perenna's powerful and closelyreasoned argument, and thinking only of the stupefying apparition whichDon Luis announced. Don Luis replied:
"Monsieur le Prefet, his visit is the logical outcome of my accusations.Remember that Cosmo Mornington's will explicitly states that no heir'sclaim will be valid unless he is present at to-day's meeting."
"And suppose he does not come?" asked the Prefect, thus showing that DonLuis's conviction had gradually got the better of his doubts.
"He will come, Monsieur le Prefet. If not, there would have been no sensein all this business. Limited to the crimes and other actions ofHippolyte Fauville, it could be looked upon as the preposterous work of amadman. Continued to the deaths of Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand,it demands, as its inevitable outcome, the appearance of a person who, asthe last descendant of the Roussels of Saint-Etienne and consequently asCosmo Mornington's absolute heir, taking precedence of myself, will cometo claim the hundred millions which he has won by means of his incredibleaudacity."
"And suppose he does not come?" M. Desmalions once more exclaimed, in amore vehement tone.
"Then, Monsieur le Prefet, you may take it that I am the culprit; and youhave only to arrest me. This day, between five and six o'clock, you willsee before you, in this room, the person who killed the Mornington heirs.It is, humanly speaking, impossible that this should not be so.Consequently, the law will be satisfied in any circumstances. He or I:the position is quite simple."
M. Desmalions was silent. He gnawed his moustache thoughtfully and walkedround and round the table, within the narrow circle formed by the others.It was obvious that objections to the supposition were springing up inhis mind. In the end, he muttered, as though speaking to himself:
"No, no. For, after all, how are we to explain that the man should havewaited until now to claim his rights?"
"An accident, perhaps, Monsieur le Prefet, an obstacle of some kind. Orelse--one can never tell--the perverse longing for a more strikingsensation. And remember, Monsieur le Prefet, how minutely and subtly thewhole business was work
ed. Each event took place at the very momentfixed by Hippolyte Fauville. Cannot we take it that his accomplice ispursuing this method to the end and that he will not reveal himselfuntil the last minute?"
M. Desmalions exclaimed, with a sort of anger:
"No, no, and again no! It is not possible. If a creature monstrous enoughto commit such a series of murders exists, he will not be such a fool asto deliver himself into our hands."
"Monsieur le Prefet, he does not know the danger that threatens him if hecomes here, because no one has even contemplated the theory of hisexistence. Besides, what risk does he run?"
"What risk? Why, if he has really committed those murders--"
"He has committed them, Monsieur le Prefet. He has _caused_ them to becommitted, which is a different thing. And you now see where the man'sunsuspected strength lies! He does not act in person. From the daywhen the truth appeared to me, I have succeeded in graduallydiscovering his means of action, in laying bare the machinery which hecontrols, the tricks which he employs. He does not act in person.There you have his method. You will find that it is the samethroughout the series of murders.
"In appearance, Cosmo Mornington died of the results of a carelesslyadministered injection. In reality, it was this man who caused theinjection to prove fatal. In appearance, Inspector Verot was killed byHippolyte Fauville. In reality, it must have been this man who contrivedthe murder by pointing out the necessity to Fauville and, so to speak,guiding his hand. And, in the same way, in appearance, Fauville killedhis son and committed suicide; Marie Fauville committed suicide; GastonSauverand committed suicide. In reality, it was this man who wanted themdead, who prompted them to commit suicide, and who supplied them with themeans of death.
"There you have the method, and there, Monsieur le Prefet, you havethe man." And, in a lower voice, that contained a sort ofapprehension, he added, "I confess that never before, in the course ofa life that has been full of strange meetings, have I encountered amore terrifying person, acting with more devilish ability or greaterpsychological insight."
His words created an ever-increasing sensation among his hearers. Theyreally saw that invisible being. He took shape in their imaginations.They waited for him to arrive. Twice Don Luis had turned to the door andlistened. And his action did more than anything else to conjure up theimage of the man who was coming.
M. Desmalions said:
"Whether he acted in person or caused others to act, the law, once it hashold of him, will know how to--"
"The law will find it no easy matter, Monsieur le Prefet! A man of hispowers and resource must have foreseen everything, even his arrest, eventhe accusation of which he would be the subject; and there is little tobe brought against him but moral charges without proofs."
"Then you think--"
"I think, Monsieur le Prefet, that the thing will be to accept hisexplanations as quite natural and not to show any distrust. What youwant is to know who he is. Later on, before long, you will be able tounmask him."
The Prefect of Police continued to walk round the table. Majord'Astrignac kept his eyes fixed on Perenna, whose coolness amazed him.The solicitor and the secretary of Embassy seemed greatly excited. Infact nothing could be more sensational than the thought that filled alltheir 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 aletter; and in addition there was one of those printed slips on whichcallers write their name and the object of their visit.
M. Desmalions hastened toward the messenger. He hesitated a moment beforetaking up the slip. He was very pale. Then he glanced at it quickly.
"Oh!" he said, with a start.
He looked toward Don Luis, reflected, and then, taking the letter, hesaid to the messenger:
"Is the bearer outside?"
"In the anteroom, Monsieur le Prefet."
"Show the person in when I ring."
The messenger left the room.
M. Desmalions stood in front of his desk, without moving. For the secondtime Don Luis met his eyes; and a feeling of perturbation came over him.What was happening?
With a sharp movement the Prefect of Police opened the envelope which heheld in his hand, unfolded the letter and began to read it.
The others watched his every gesture, watched the least change ofexpression on his face. Were Perenna's predictions about to be fulfilled?Was a fifth heir putting in his claim?
The moment he had read the first lines, M. Desmalions looked up and,addressing Don Luis, murmured:
"You were right, Monsieur. This is a claim."
"On whose part, Monsieur le Prefet?" Don Luis could not help asking.
M. Desmalions did not reply. He finished reading the letter. Then he readit again, with the attention of a man weighing every word. Lastly, heread aloud:
"MONSIEUR LE PREFET:
"A chance correspondence has revealed to me the existence of an unknownheir of the Roussel family. It was only to-day that I was able toprocure the documents necessary for identifying this heir; and, owing tounforeseen obstacles, it is only at the last moment that I am able tosend them to you _by the person whom they concern_. Respecting a secretwhich is not mine and wishing, as a woman, to remain outside a businessin which I have been only accidentally involved, I beg you, Monsieur lePrefet, to excuse me if I do not feel called upon to sign my name tothis letter."
So Perenna had seen rightly and events were justifying his forecast. Someone was putting in an appearance within the period indicated. The claimwas made in good time. And the very way in which things were happening atthe exact moment was curiously suggestive of the mechanical exactnessthat had governed the whole business.
The last question still remained: who was this unknown person, thepossible heir, and therefore the five or six fold murderer? He waswaiting in the next room. There was nothing but a wall between himand the others. He was coming in. They would see him. They would knowwho he was.
The Prefect suddenly rang the bell.
A few tense seconds elapsed. Oddly enough, M. Desmalions did not removehis eyes from Perenna. Don Luis remained quite master of himself, butrestless and uneasy at heart.
The door opened. The messenger showed some one in.
It was Florence Levasseur.