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Updated: June 9, 2025
"That's where you make a mistake, Monsieur le Préfet," said Don Luis. M. Desmalions gave a start. "What! What's that? Cosmo Mornington ?" "I say that Cosmo Mornington did not die, as you think, of a carelessly administered injection, but that he died, as he feared he would, by foul play." "But, Monsieur, your assertion is based on no evidence whatever!" "It is based on fact, Monsieur le Préfet."
It was clear that the deputy chief did not believe one word of the story. He knew through M. Desmalions and Mazeroux that Don Luis was in love with Florence; and Don Luis was not the man even through jealousy to hand over a woman whom he loved. He increased his attention. "Good business!" he said. "Take me up to your room. Was it a hard struggle?" "Not very. I managed to disarm the scoundrel.
Who gave them to her?" "We don't know yet, Monsieur le Préfet." M. Desmalions looked at Don Luis. So Hippolyte Fauville's suicide had not put an end to the series of crimes! His action had done more than aim at Marie's death by the hand of the law: it had now driven her to take poison! Was it possible?
"You have just the same confidence, Monsieur le Préfet." They were silent, irritated by the wait, and struggling with the absurd anxiety that oppressed them. They counted the seconds singly, by the beating of their hearts. It was interminable. Three o'clock sounded from somewhere. "You see," grinned M. Desmalions, in an altered voice, "you see! There's nothing, thank goodness!"
M. Desmalions once more inspected this curious individual; and he could not refrain from saying, as though in obedience to an association of ideas for which he himself was unable to account: "One word more, and one only. What were your comrades' reasons for giving you that rather odd nickname of Arsène Lupin? Was it just an allusion to your pluck, to your physical strength?"
Fauville's accusation and to foil the trick of the turquoise. But M. Desmalions will never admit that this is a similar attempt and that Gaston Sauverand has tried, as Marie Fauville did, to get me out of the way by compromising me and procuring my arrest." "Well," exclaimed M. Desmalions impatiently, "answer! Defend yourself!" "No, Monsieur le Préfet, it is not for me to defend myself,"
"In other words, Monsieur le Préfet," said Perenna, replying directly to the attack, "in other words, circumstances having brought about that you authorized me to spend the night here, you would like to know if my evidence corresponds at all points with that of Sergeant Mazeroux?" "Yes." "Meaning that the part played by myself strikes you as suspicious?" M. Desmalions hesitated.
M. Desmalions, meanwhile, began briefly to review the new solutions, and he concluded by still discussing certain points. "Yes, that's it ... there is not the least shadow of a doubt.... We agree.... It's that and nothing else. Still, one or two things remain obscure. First of all, the mark of the teeth. This, notwithstanding the husband's admission, is a fact which we cannot neglect."
A word from M. Desmalions, and Sergeant Mazeroux would be forced to take his chief by the collar. Don Luis once more gave a glance toward his former accomplice. Mazeroux made a gesture of entreaty, as though to say: "Well, what are you waiting for? Why don't you give up the criminal? Quick, it's time!" Don Luis smiled.
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?"
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