The Teeth of the Tiger | Page 4

word he used."
M. Desmalions was walking up and down the room, with his hands
behind his back. He stopped at a small table.
"What's this little parcel addressed to me? 'Monsieur le Préfet de
Police--to be opened in case of accident.'"
"Oh, yes," said the secretary, "I was forgetting! That's from Inspector
Vérot, too; something of importance, he said, and serving to complete
and explain the contents of the letter."
"Well," said M. Desmalions, who could not help laughing, "the letter
certainly needs explaining; and, though there's no question of 'accident,'
I may as well open the parcel."
As he spoke, he cut the string and discovered, under the paper, a box, a
little cardboard box, which might have come from a druggist, but
which was soiled and spoiled by the use to which it had been put.
He raised the lid. Inside the box were a few layers of cotton wool,
which were also rather dirty, and in between these layers was half a
cake of chocolate.
"What the devil does this mean?" growled the Prefect in surprise.
He took the chocolate, looked at it, and at once perceived what was
peculiar about this cake of chocolate, which was also undoubtedly the
reason why Inspector Vérot had kept it. Above and below, it bore the
prints of teeth, very plainly marked, very plainly separated one from the
other, penetrating to a depth of a tenth of an inch or so into the
chocolate. Each possessed its individual shape and width, and each was
divided from its neighbours by a different interval. The jaws which had
started eating the cake of chocolate had dug into it the mark of four
upper and five lower teeth.
M. Desmalions remained wrapped in thought and, with his head sunk

on his chest, for some minutes resumed his walk up and down the room,
muttering:
"This is queer ... There's a riddle here to which I should like to know
the answer. That sheet of paper, the marks of those teeth: what does it
all mean?"
But he was not the man to waste much time over a mystery which was
bound to be cleared up presently, as Inspector Vérot must be either at
the police office or somewhere just outside; and he said to his
secretary:
"I can't keep those five gentlemen waiting any longer. Please have them
shown in now. If Inspector Vérot arrives while they are here, as he is
sure to do, let me know at once. I want to see him as soon as he comes.
Except for that, see that I'm not disturbed on any pretext, won't you?"
* * * * *
Two minutes later the messenger showed in Maître Lepertuis, a stout,
red-faced man, with whiskers and spectacles, followed by Archibald
Bright, the Secretary of Embassy, and Caceres, the Peruvian attaché. M.
Desmalions, who knew all three of them, chatted to them until he
stepped forward to receive Major Comte d'Astrignac, the hero of La
Chouïa, who had been forced into premature retirement by his glorious
wounds. The Prefect was complimenting him warmly on his gallant
conduct in Morocco when the door opened once more.
"Don Luis Perenna, I believe?" said the Prefect, offering his hand to a
man of middle height and rather slender build, wearing the military
medal and the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour.
The newcomer's face and expression, his way of holding himself, and
his very youthful movements inclined one to look upon him as a man
of forty, though there were wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and on
the forehead, which perhaps pointed to a few years more. He bowed.
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet."

"Is that you, Perenna?" cried Comte d'Astrignae. "So you are still
among the living?"
"Yes, Major, and delighted to see you again."
"Perenna alive! Why, we had lost all sight of you when I left Morocco!
We thought you dead."
"I was a prisoner, that's all."
"A prisoner of the tribesmen; the same thing!"
"Not quite, Major; one can escape from anywhere. The proof stands
before you."
The Prefect of Police, yielding to an irresistible attraction to resist,
spent some seconds in examining that powerful face, with the smiling
glance, the frank and resolute eyes, and the bronzed complexion, which
looked as if it had been baked and baked again by the sun.
Then, motioning to his visitors to take chairs around his desk, M.
Desmalions himself sat down and made a preliminary statement in
clear and deliberate tones:
"The summons, gentlemen, which I addressed to each of you, must
have appeared to you rather peremptory and mysterious. And the
manner in which I propose to open our conversation is not likely to
diminish your surprise. But if you will attach a little credit