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Updated: June 9, 2025
And, hurrying back to the staircase, he roared over the balusters: "Watch all the doors! She's got away! Collar her!" M. Desmalions came hurrying up. Meeting the deputy, he received his explanations and then went on to Florence's room. The open window looked out on a small inner yard, a sort of well which served to ventilate a part of the house. Some rain-pipes ran down the wall.
"Very easy, indeed, Monsieur le Préfet; the sofa is there, between the windows." M. Desmalions waited two or three seconds and then walked to the sofa and moved the cushions. Under one of them lay the handle end of the walking-stick. Don Luis could not repress a gesture of amazement and anger. He had not for a second contemplated the possibility of such a miracle; and it took him unawares.
You will see here something like the design of a chimney, or, rather, a cupboard a cupboard recessed behind the bed and probably hidden by the curtains." "But, in that case, Weber," said M. Desmalions, "this dotted line must represent a passage leading from this lodge to the main building. Look, there is also a little red cross at the other end of the line."
"Ah," he cried, overcome with jealousy, "you confess it! So the man of whom I speak exists! I swear that the villain " He turned toward M. Desmalions, his face convulsed with hatred. He made no further effort to contain himself: "Monsieur le Préfet, we are in sight of the goal. I know the road that will lead us to it. The wild beast shall be hunted down to-night, or to-morrow at least.
"What does this mean? Explain yourself!" Then M. Desmalions asked simply: "What were you doing last night between half-past eleven in the evening and two o'clock in the morning?"
He has gone to earth in some hiding-hole in his house, above the study; and his fatigue and privations seem to have unsettled him a little. Mazeroux, go and ferret him out unless this is just some fresh trick on his part. You have your warrant." Sergeant Mazeroux went up to M. Desmalions. His face was pallid. "Monsieur le Préfet, did he tell you that we were going to be blown up?" "He did.
He was racked with too much anxiety; and, though his plan of conduct was worked out mathematically, he could not help foreseeing all the obstacles which were likely to frustrate that plan. Of course, Weber would speak to M. Desmalions. But would M. Desmalions telephone to Valenglay? "He is sure to telephone," Don Luis declared, stamping his foot. "It doesn't let him in for anything.
On inspection, it proved to be surmounted by a cubical metal box, measuring about eight inches square, which box, being fastened inside the ceiling between the iron clamps, had obliged Don Luis to knock away the plaster that concealed it. "What the devil's this?" exclaimed M. Desmalions. "Open it for yourself, Monsieur le Préfet: there's a lid to it," said Perenna. M. Desmalions raised the lid.
Was it apprehension, the wish to withdraw himself from the influence of that astonishing man, who gave his orders with such authority and who seemed to command events themselves? Don Luis stood waiting imperturbably, in a deferential attitude. "I cannot believe " said M. Desmalions.
There was nothing but a wall between him and the others. He was coming in. They would see him. They would know who he was. The Prefect suddenly rang the bell. A few tense seconds elapsed. Oddly enough, M. Desmalions did not remove his eyes from Perenna. Don Luis remained quite master of himself, but restless and uneasy at heart. The door opened. The messenger showed some one in.
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