The Teeth of the Tiger | Page 3

PERENNA
"That's the one I'm curious to see!" said M. Desmalions. "He interests me like the very devil! Did you read the report of the Foreign Legion?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Pr��fet, and I confess that this gentleman puzzles me, too."
"He does, eh? Did you ever hear of such pluck? A sort of heroic madman, something absolutely wonderful! And then there's that nickname of Ars��ne Lupin which he earned among his messmates for the way in which he used to boss them and astound them! ... How long is it since the death of Ars��ne Lupin?"
"It happened two years before your appointment, Monsieur le Pr��fet. His corpse and Mme. Kesselbach's were discovered under the ruins of a little chalet which was burnt down close to the Luxemburg frontier. It was found at the inquest that he had strangled that monster, Mrs. Kesselbach, whose crimes came to light afterward, and that he hanged himself after setting fire to the chalet."
"It was a fitting end for that--rascal," said M. Desmalions, "and I confess that I, for my part, much prefer not having him to fight against. Let's see, where were we? Are the papers of the Mornington inheritance ready for me?"
"On your desk, Monsieur le Pr��fet."
"Good. But I was forgetting: is Inspector V��rot here?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Pr��fet. I expect he's in the infirmary getting something to pull him together."
"Why, what's the matter with him?"
"He struck me as being in a queer state--rather ill."
"How do you mean?"
The secretary described his interview with Inspector V��rot.
"And you say he left a letter for me?" said M. Desmalions with a worried air. "Where is it?"
"Among the papers, Monsieur le Pr��fet."
"Very odd: it's all very odd. V��rot is a first-rate inspector, a very sober-minded fellow; and he doesn't get frightened easily. You might go and fetch him. Meanwhile, I'll look through my letters."
The secretary hurried away. When he returned, five minutes later, he stated, with an air of astonishment, that he had not seen Inspector V��rot.
"And what's more curious still," he added, "is that the messenger who saw him leave this room saw him come in again almost at once and did not see him go out a second time."
"Perhaps he only passed through here to go to you."
"To me, Monsieur le Pr��fet? I was in my room all the time."
"Then it's incomprehensible."
"Yes ... unless we conclude that the messenger's attention was distracted for a second, as V��rot is neither here nor next door."
"That must be it. I expect he's gone to get some air outside; and he'll be back at any moment. For that matter, I shan't want him to start with."
The Prefect looked at his watch.
"Ten past five. You might tell the messenger to show those gentlemen in.... Wait, though--"
M. Desmalions hesitated. In turning over the papers he had found V��rot's letter. It was a large, yellow, business envelope, with "Caf�� du Pont-Neuf" printed at the top.
The secretary suggested:
"In view of V��rot's absence, Monsieur le Pr��fet, and of what he said, it might be as well for you to see what's in the letter first."
M. Desmalions paused to reflect.
"Perhaps you're right."
And, making up his mind, he inserted a paper-knife into the envelope and cut it open. A cry escaped him.
"Oh, I say, this is a little too much!"
"What is it, Monsieur le Pr��fet?"
"Why, look here, a blank ... sheet of paper! That's all the envelope contains!"
"Impossible!"
"See for yourself--a plain sheet folded in four, with not a word on it."
"But V��rot told me in so many words that he had said in that letter all that he knew about the case."
"He told you so, no doubt, but there you are! Upon my word, if I didn't know Inspector V��rot, I should think he was trying to play a game with me."
"It's a piece of carelessness, Monsieur le Pr��fet, at the worst."
"No doubt, a piece of carelessness, but I'm surprised at him. It doesn't do to be careless when the lives of two people are at stake. For he must have told you that there is a double murder planned for to-night?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Pr��fet, and under particularly alarming conditions; infernal was the 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 Pr��fet de Police--to be opened in case of accident.'"
"Oh, yes," said the secretary, "I was forgetting! That's from Inspector V��rot, 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