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Updated: June 9, 2025
M. Desmalions, he said, was feeling anxious on the score of very serious indications which he had just received and, without waiting for the next day's interview, begged M. Fauville to take all the precautions which his detectives might advise. Fauville at first displayed a certain ill humour. "My precautions are taken, gentlemen, and well taken.
"Another would have killed his victims frankly and brutally. He set his wits to work to kill at a long date, like an experimenter who leaves to time the duty of proving the excellence of his invention. And he succeeded only too well, because the police fell into the trap and because Mme. Fauville is perhaps going to die." M. Desmalions made a gesture of decision.
"I think, Monsieur le Préfet, that he is concealed in the house. This is an old house and probably contains some safe hiding-place " "Of course, of course," said M. Desmalions, whom Don Luis, peeping through the curtains, saw walking to and fro in front of the alcove. "You're right; and we shall catch him in his burrow. Only, is it really necessary?" "Monsieur le Préfet!"
Don Luis did not demur to this cross-examining manner and answered: "Yes, Monsieur le Préfet." "Here, to your study?" "Here, to my study." M. Desmalions paused and then went on: "I left thirty or forty minutes after you and drove to the police office in my car. There I received this express letter. Read it. You will see that it was handed in at the Bourse at half-past nine."
Not a word was spoken during the few minutes for which Mazeroux was absent. Mme. Fauville seemed absorbed in her grief. M. Desmalions kept his eyes fixed on her. The sergeant returned, carrying a very large box containing a number of jewel-cases and loose ornaments.
"Monsieur le Préfet, I would remind you that Inspector Vérot's revelations may save the lives of two persons who are doomed to die to-night. Every minute lost is irreparable." M. Desmalions shrugged his shoulders. But that man mastered him with the power of his conviction; and the Prefect opened the door. He did not make a movement, did not utter a cry. He simply muttered: "Oh, is it possible!
It was as though Don Luis found renewed strength in a sudden fit of fear. His weak voice recovered its emphasis, and, by turns imperious, despairing, and beseeching, full of a conviction which he did his utmost to impart to M. Desmalions, he said: "Go away, Monsieur le Préfet! Go, all of you; leave the house. The house will be blown up at three o'clock. Yes, yes, I swear it will.
M. Desmalions searched hurriedly among the letters which his secretary had handed him on his arrival and which lay on a corner of the table. "Ah, here we are!" he exclaimed, glancing at the signature of one of the letters. "Here we are! It's as I thought: 'Fauville. ... The first syllable is the same.... Look, 'Fauville, just like that, without Christian name or initials.
A battle was raging within him between his love and generosity, which led him to believe the girl, and his reason, which obliged him to suspect her. Was she innocent or guilty? He did not know. Everything was against her. And yet why had he never ceased to love her? Weber entered, followed by his men. M. Desmalions spoke to him and pointed to Florence. Weber went up to her.
"Of course they did; and they knew plenty of other things besides. We've not seen the end of it with those fellows. There's no time to lose. Ring up!" Mazeroux did so and soon received the answer that M. Desmalions was coming to the telephone. He waited. In a few minutes Perenna, who had been walking up and down, examining different objects in the room, came and sat down beside Mazeroux.
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