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

Himself astonished at the feelings that agitated him, fearing lest he should betray himself, he preferred to cut short the interview and, going up to the girl, he said to her, in an imperious and aggressive tone:

“I wish all the servants in the house to be discharged. You will give them their wages, pay them such compensation as they ask for, and see that they leave today, definitely. Another staff of servants will arrive this evening. You will be here to receive them.”

She made no reply. He went away, taking with him the uncomfortable impression that had lately marked his relations with Florence. The atmosphere between them always remained heavy and oppressive. Their words never seemed to express the private thoughts of either of them; and their actions did not correspond with the words spoken. Did not the circumstances logically demand the immediate dismissal of Florence Levasseur as well? Yet Don Luis did not so much as think of it.

Returning to his study, he at once rang up Mazeroux and, lowering his voice so as not to let it reach the next room, he said:

“Is that you, Mazeroux?”

“Yes.”

“Has the Prefect placed you at my disposal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, tell him that I have sacked all my servants and that I have given you their names and instructed you to have an active watch kept on them. We must look among them for Sauverand’s accomplice. Another thing: ask the Prefect to give you and me permission to spend the night at Hippolyte Fauville’s house.”

“Nonsense! At the house on the Boulevard Suchet?”

“Yes, I have every reason to believe that something’s going to happen there.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. But something is bound to take place. And I insist on being at it. Is it arranged?”

“Right, Chief. Unless you hear to the contrary, I’ll meet you at nine o’clock this evening on the Boulevard Suchet.”

Perenna did not see Mlle. Levasseur again that day. He went out in the course of the afternoon, and called at the registry office, where he chose some servants: a chauffeur, a coachman, a footman, a cook, and so on. Then he went to a photographer, who made a new copy of Mlle. Levasseur’s photograph. Don Luis had this touched up and faked it himself, so that the Prefect of Police should not perceive the substitution of one set of features for another.

He dined at a restaurant and, at nine o’clock, joined Mazeroux on the Boulevard Suchet.

Since the Fauville murders the house had been left in the charge of the porter. All the rooms and all the locks had been sealed up, except the inner door of the workroom, of which the police kept the keys for the purposes of the inquiry.

The big study looked as it did before, though the papers had been removed and put away and there were no books and pamphlets left on the writing-table. A layer of dust, clearly visible by the electric light, covered its black leather and the surrounding mahogany.

“Well, Alexandre, old man,” cried Don Luis, when they had made themselves comfortable, “what do you say to this? It’s rather impressive, being here again, what? But, this time, no barricading of doors, no bolts, eh? If anything’s going to happen, on this night of the fifteenth of April, we’ll put nothing in our friends’ way. They shall have full and entire liberty. It’s up to them, this time.”

Though joking, Don Luis was nevertheless singularly impressed, as he himself said, by the terrible recollection of the two crimes which he had been unable to prevent and by the haunting vision of the two dead bodies. And he also remembered with real emotion the implacable duel which he had fought with Mme. Fauville, the woman’s despair and her arrest.

“Tell me about her,” he said to Mazeroux. “So she tried to kill herself?”

“Yes,” said Mazeroux, “a thoroughgoing attempt, though she had to make it in a manner which she must have hated. She hanged herself in strips of linen torn from her sheets and underclothing and twisted together. She had to be restored by artificial respiration. She is out of danger now, I believe, but she is never left alone, for she swore she would do it again.”

“She has made no confession?”

“No. She persists in proclaiming her innocence.”

“And what do they think at the public prosecutor’s? At the Prefect’s?”

“Why should they change their opinion, Chief? The inquiries confirm every one of the charges brought against her; and, in particular, it has been proved beyond the possibility of dispute that she alone can have touched the apple and that she can have touched it only between eleven o’clock at night and seven o’clock in the morning. Now the apple bears the undeniable marks of her teeth. Would you admit that there are two sets of jaws in the world that leave the same identical imprint?”

“No, no,” said Don Luis, who was thinking of Florence Levasseur. “No, the argument allows of no discussion. We have here a fact that is clear as daylight; and the imprint is almost tantamount to a discovery in the act. But then how, in the midst of all this, are we to explain the presence of⁠—”

“Whom, Chief?”

“Nobody. I had an idea worrying me. Besides, you see, in all this there are so many unnatural things, such queer coincidences and inconsistencies, that I dare not count on a certainty which the reality of tomorrow may destroy.”

They went on talking for some time, in a low voice, studying the question in all its bearings.

At midnight they switched off the electric light in the chandelier and arranged that each should go to sleep in turn.

And the hours went by as they had done when the two sat up before, with the same sounds of belated carriages and motor cars; the same railway whistles; the same silence.

The night passed without alarm or incident of any kind. At daybreak the life out of doors was resumed; and Don Luis, during his waking hours, had