The Teeth of the Tiger - Maurice Leblanc (feel good books txt) 📗

Prefect’s private secretary entered with a visiting-card in his hand.

“Monsieur le Préfet, this caller was so persistent.⁠ ⁠… I hesitated⁠—”

M. Desmalions took the card and uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise and joy.

“Look, Monsieur,” he said to Perenna.

And he handed him the card.

Hippolyte Fauville,
Civil Engineer.
14 bis Boulevard Suchet.

“Come,” said M. Desmalions, “chance is favouring us. If this M. Fauville is one of the Roussel heirs, our task becomes very much easier.”

“In any case, Monsieur le Préfet,” the solicitor interposed, “I must remind you that one of the clauses of the will stipulates that it shall not be read until forty-eight hours have elapsed. M. Fauville, therefore, must not be informed⁠—”

The door was pushed open and a man hustled the messenger aside and rushed in.

“Inspector⁠ ⁠… Inspector Vérot?” he spluttered. “He’s dead, isn’t he? I was told⁠—”

“Yes, Monsieur, he is dead.”

“Too late! I’m too late!” he stammered.

And he sank into a chair, clasping his hands and sobbing:

“Oh, the scoundrels! the scoundrels!”

He was a pale, hollow-cheeked, sickly looking man of about fifty. His head was bald, above a forehead lined with deep wrinkles. A nervous twitching affected his chin and the lobes of his ears. Tears stood in his eyes.

The Prefect asked:

“Whom do you mean, Monsieur? Inspector Vérot’s murderers? Are you able to name them, to assist our inquiry?”

Hippolyte Fauville shook his head.

“No, no, it would be useless, for the moment.⁠ ⁠… My proofs would not be sufficient.⁠ ⁠… No, really not.”

He had already risen from his chair and stood apologizing:

“Monsieur le Préfet, I have disturbed you unnecessarily, but I wanted to know.⁠ ⁠… I was hoping that Inspector Vérot might have escaped.⁠ ⁠… His evidence, joined to mine, would have been invaluable. But perhaps he was able to tell you?”

“No, he spoke of this evening⁠—of tonight⁠—”

Hippolyte Fauville started.

“This evening! Then the time has come!⁠ ⁠… But no, it’s impossible, they can’t do anything to me yet.⁠ ⁠… They are not ready⁠—”

“Inspector Vérot declared, however, that the double murder would be committed tonight.”

“No, Monsieur le Préfet, he was wrong there.⁠ ⁠… I know all about it.⁠ ⁠… Tomorrow evening at the earliest⁠ ⁠… and we will catch them in a trap.⁠ ⁠… Oh, the scoundrels!”

Don Luis went up to him and asked:

“Your mother’s name was Ermeline Roussel, was it not?”

“Yes, Ermeline Roussel. She is dead now.”

“And she was from Saint-Etienne?”

“Yes. But why these questions?”

“Monsieur le Préfet will tell you tomorrow. One word more.” He opened the cardboard box left by Inspector Vérot. “Does this cake of chocolate mean anything to you? These marks?”

“Oh, how awful!” said the civil engineer, in a hoarse tone. “Where did the inspector find it?”

He dropped into his chair again, but only for a moment; then, drawing himself up, he hurried toward the door with a jerky step.

“I’m going, Monsieur le Préfet, I’m going. Tomorrow morning I’ll show you.⁠ ⁠… I shall have all the proofs.⁠ ⁠… And the police will protect me.⁠ ⁠… I am ill, I know, but I want to live! I have the right to live⁠ ⁠… and my son, too.⁠ ⁠… And we will live.⁠ ⁠… Oh, the scoundrels!⁠—”

And he ran, stumbling out, like a drunken man.

M. Desmalions rose hastily.

“I shall have inquiries made about that man’s circumstances.⁠ ⁠… I shall have his house watched. I’ve telephoned to the detective office already. I’m expecting someone in whom I have every confidence.”

Don Luis said:

“Monsieur le Préfet, I beg you, with an earnestness which you will understand, to authorize me to pursue the investigation. Cosmo Mornington’s will makes it my duty and, allow me to say, gives me the right to do so. M. Fauville’s enemies have given proofs of extraordinary cleverness and daring. I want to have the honour of being at the post of danger tonight, at M. Fauville’s house, near his person.”

The Prefect hesitated. He was bound to reflect how greatly to Don Luis Perenna’s interest it was that none of the Mornington heirs should be discovered, or at least be able to come between him and the millions of the inheritance. Was it safe to attribute to a noble sentiment of gratitude, to a lofty conception of friendship and duty, that strange longing to protect Hippolyte Fauville against the death that threatened him?

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 anyone come from the detective office?”

“Yes, Monsieur le Préfet; Sergeant Mazeroux is here.”

“Please have him shown in.”

And, turning to Perenna:

“Sergeant Mazeroux is one of our smartest detectives. I used to employ him together with that poor Vérot when I wanted anyone more than ordinarily active and sharp. He will be of great use to you.”

Sergeant Mazeroux entered. He was a short, lean, wiry man, whose drooping moustache, heavy eyelids, watery eyes and long, lank hair gave him a most doleful appearance.

“Mazeroux,” said the Prefect, “you will have heard, by this time, of your comrade Vérot’s death and of the horrible circumstances attending it. We must now avenge him and prevent further crimes. This gentleman, who knows the case from end to end, will explain all that is necessary. You will work with him and report to me tomorrow morning.”

This meant giving a free hand to Don Luis Perenna and relying on his power of initiative and his perspicacity. Don Luis bowed:

“I thank you, Monsieur le Préfet. I hope that you will have no reason to regret the trust which you are good enough to place in me.”

And, taking leave of M. Desmalions and Maître Lepertuis, he went out with Sergeant Mazeroux.

As soon as they were outside, he told Mazeroux what he knew. The detective seemed much impressed by his companion’s professional gifts and quite ready to be guided by his views.

They decided first to go to the Café du Pont-Neuf. Here they learned that Inspector Vérot, who was a regular customer of the place, had written a long letter there that morning. And the