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Updated: June 9, 2025
"I do not suppose, Monsieur le Senateur, that you have ever seen one of our dossiers in fact I may tell you that very few people outside this building ever do see one. By the way, a great deal of nonsense is talked about them. Roughly speaking, a dossier is not a history of the individual in question; it simply records what is being said of him.
Perhaps you, Monsieur le Senateur, will inform the hotel people that a Perquisition is about to take place." As he walked away from the Prefecture of Police, Senator Burton told himself that the French were certainly a curiously casual people. How strange that the Prefect should have asked him to break the news of what was to happen at eleven o'clock the next morning to the Poulains!
No, Monsieur le Senateur, there is simply a woman! Sometimes it is a new friend but far oftener it is an old friend." There was a pause. "God forbid," said the Prefect suddenly, "that I should accuse this unfortunate man of anything heinous! But but, Monsieur le Senateur?
Well, Monsieur le Senateur, the best thing you and I can do is to look at the artist's dossier. That is quite likely to provide us with a useful clue." The Senator felt a thrill of anticipatory interest.
He could not have told exactly why, but he had the impression that his courteous host had suddenly become anxious to get rid of him. But this impression was evidently erroneous. Even after they had cordially shaken hands, the Prefect of Police seemed in no hurry to let him go. "One moment, Monsieur le Senateur?" he looked earnestly into the American's frank face.
"Well," she said at last, "of course that could be ascertained," and the Senator with satisfaction told himself that she was at last taking a proper part in what had become his trouble, "but I cannot help thinking, Monsieur le Senateur, that we might give this naughty husband a little longer at any rate till to-morrow to come back to the fold."
As Brigadier Senateur was a joker, all the gendarmes had grown facetious, and the officer continued: "Where is your butter?" "My butter?" "Yes, your butter." "In the jar." "Then where is the butter jar?" "Here it is." She brought out an old cup, at the bottom of which there was a layer of rancid salt butter, and the brigadier smelled of it, and said, with a shake of his head: "It is not the same.
The Prefect of Police can do many things, Monsieur le Senateur, but as I said just now, he cannot force an unwilling husband back to his wife, especially if that husband has already crossed the frontier. Come, Monsieur le Senateur, confess that some such explanation of Mr. Dampier's disappearance has already occurred to you?"
She shook her head sullenly, and then, with none of her usual suavity, exclaimed, "I do not think, Monsieur le Senateur, that you should have brought that demoiselle back here!"
"Yes," said the Prefect. "That last entry was only added the day before yesterday, and told of Monsieur Dampier's disappearance. It is being written up now, Monsieur le Senateur, with a note explaining your kind interest in him, and telling of your visit to-day." Senator Burton rose from his chair.
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