“That?  Impossible!  You do not expect it, surely?  Why, the face is too much mangled for any one to say who it is.”

“Are there no indications, no marks or signs, to say whether it is Quadling or not?” asked the Judge in a greatly disappointed tone.

“Absolutely nothing.  And yet I am quite satisfied it is not him.  For the simple reason that—­”

“Yes, yes, go on.”

“That Quadling in person is standing out there among the crowd.”

CHAPTER XX

M. Flocon was the first to realize the full meaning of Colonel Papillon’s surprising statement.

“Run, run, La Peche!  Have the outer doors closed; let no one leave the place.”

“Draw back, gentlemen!” he went on, and he hustled his companions with frantic haste out at the back of the mortuary chamber.  “Pray Heaven he has not seen us!  He would know us, even if we do not him.”

Then with no less haste he seized Colonel Papillon by the arm and hurried him by the back passages through the office into the outer, public chamber, where the astonished crowd stood, silent and perturbed, awaiting explanation of their detention.

“Quick, monsieur!” whispered the Chief; “point him out to me.”

The request was not unnecessary, for when Colonel Papillon went forward, and, putting his hand on a man’s shoulder, saying, “Mr. Quadling, I think,” the police officer was scarcely able to restrain his surprise.

The person thus challenged was very unlike any one he had seen before that day, Ripaldi most of all.  The moustache was gone, the clothes were entirely changed; a pair of dark green spectacles helped the disguise.  It was strange indeed that Papillon had known him; but at the moment of recognition Quadling had removed his glasses, no doubt that he might the better examine the object of his visit to the Morgue, that gruesome record of his own fell handiwork.

Naturally he drew back with well-feigned indignation, muttering half-unintelligible words in French, denying stoutly both in voice and gesture all acquaintance with the person who thus abruptly addressed him.

“This is not to be borne,” he cried.  “Who are you that dares—­”

“Ta! ta!” quietly put in M. Flocon; “we will discuss that fully, but not here.  Come into the office; come, I say, or must we use force?”

There was no escaping now, and with a poor attempt at bravado the stranger was led away.

“Now, Colonel Papillon, look at him well.  Do you know him?  Are you satisfied it is—­”

“Mr. Quadling, late banker, of Rome.  I have not the slightest doubt of it.  I recognize him beyond all question.”

“That will do.  Silence, sir!” This to Quadling.  “No observations.  I too can recognize you now as the person who called himself Ripaldi an hour or two ago.  Denial is useless.  Let him be searched; thoroughly, you understand, La Peche?  Call in your other men; he may resist.”