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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Sign the gaol book, please, M. Havard," he said, and while that gentleman affixed a shaky signature to the warrant authorising the delivery of Gurn to the public executioner, Deibler took the scissors and cut a segment out of the prisoner's shirt and cut off a wisp of hair that grew low down on his neck. Meanwhile an assistant bound the wrists of the man who was about to die.
"My dear fellow," said Monsieur Havard, in a positive tone, "for a logical mind that reasons coolly, for one who does not bewilder himself in a network of Fantômas hypotheses, he who killed Brocq is assuredly he who has killed Nichoune! Brocq, I imagine, was killed by someone lying in wait on the top of the Arc de Triomphe.
I would rather submit to your indiscreet questioning than stick here in a brown study black, I might say with only my own thoughts for company." "Good heavens, Chief! What is troubling you to such an extent?" Monsieur Havard laughed. "Oh, I will tell you the reason of this melancholy mood!... You are on pretty intimate terms with Juve, are you not?" "You have heard from him, Chief?"
"But all this does not exclude Fantômas as the guilty person!" "You go too fast, Fandor. I know who killed Nichoune!" "Oh! I say!" "But I do. Deuce take it, you do not suppose I go by what these officers of the Second Bureau are doing in the way of a search, do you?... They fancy they are detectives!" "Oh, that is going too far, surely!" expostulated Fandor. "No," asserted Monsieur Havard.
Still it was she, who, before quitting the scene, had found a husband for her granddaughter, Berthe, in the person of Philippe Havard, a young engineer who had recently been appointed assistant-manager at a State factory near Mareuil.
Could he possibly realise that Vagualame was one of Colonel Hofferman's most trusted men? Jealous of the Second Bureau and all its works, Monsieur Havard meant to carry off the honours this time: he was going to arrest Vagualame as the murderer of both Captain Brocq and Nichoune! And then what a jolly blunder Police Headquarters would make! What a fine joke! Fandor really must help it on!
They have to be constantly watched and renewed, and to those unused to the idea of dwelling in the presence of such constant peril, the phlegm of the Hollanders is remarkable. M. Havard, who has made a careful study of the country and its people, and who writes of them in a lively style, has left excellent descriptions of these unique works.
There were present the Attorney General, the Public Prosecutor, his deputy, the Governor of the prison, and behind these, M. Havard, Deibler, and his two assistants. The little company passed through the corridors to the third floor, where the condemned cells are. The warder Nibet came forward with his bunch of keys in his hand. Deibler looked at the Public Prosecutor.
The crestfallen Michel had to unhandcuff Juve and restore him to liberty; but he extracted a promise from his amazing colleague that he would see Monsieur Havard next morning, and give him an account of all that had passed. Accordingly, at seven o'clock next morning, Juve was received by Monsieur Havard.
As if M. Havard had had an idea that the Langrune affair would prove to be puzzling and complicated, he had singled out the very best of his detectives, the most expert inspector of them all Juve.
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