“It’s funny,” said Weber, watching Don Luis closely, “but my men all think he’s here.  They haven’t seen him go out.”

“They haven’t seen him go out?” echoed Don Luis, pretending to feel anxious.  “But, then, where can he be?  He told me he wanted to have his thumb seen to.”

The deputy chief was growing more and more suspicious.  Evidently Perenna was trying to get rid of him by sending him in search of the sergeant.

“I will send one of my men,” he said.  “Is the chemist’s near?”

“Just around the corner, in the Rue de Bourgogne.  Besides, we can telephone.”

“Oh, we can telephone!” muttered Weber.

He was quite at a loss and looked like a man who does not know what is going to happen next.  He moved slowly toward the instrument, while barring the way to Don Luis to prevent his escaping.  Don Luis therefore retreated to the telephone box, as if forced to do so, took down the receiver with one hand, and, calling, “Hullo!  Hullo!  Saxe, 2409,” with the other hand, which was resting against the wall, he cut one of the wires with a pair of pliers which he had taken off the table as he passed.

“Hullo!  Are you there?  Is that 2409?  Are you the chemist?...  Hullo!...  Sergeant Mazeroux of the detective service is with you, isn’t he?  Eh?  What?  What do you say?  But it’s too awful!  Are you sure?  Do you mean to say the wound is poisoned?”

Without thinking what he was doing, the deputy chief pushed Don Luis aside and took hold of the receiver.  The thought of the poisoned wound was too much for him.

“Are you there?” he cried, keeping an eye on Don Luis and motioning to him not to go away.  “Are you there? ...  Eh? ...  It’s Deputy Chief Weber, of the detective office, speaking....  Hullo!  Are you there? ...  I want to know about Sergeant Mazeroux. ...  Are you there?. . .  Oh, hang it, why don’t you answer!”

Suddenly he let go the instrument, looked at the wires, perceived that they had been cut, and turned round, showing a face that clearly expressed the thought in his mind.

“That’s done it.  I’ve been tricked!”

Perenna was standing a couple of yards behind him, leaning carelessly against the woodwork of the arch, with his left hand passed between his back and the woodwork.  He was smiling, smiling pleasantly, kindly, and genially: 

“Don’t move!” he said, with a gesture of his right hand.

Weber, more frightened by that smile than he would have been by threats, took good care not to move.

“Don’t move,” repeated Don Luis, in a very queer voice.  “And, whatever you do, don’t be alarmed.  You shan’t be hurt, I promise you.  Just five minutes in a dark cell for a naughty little boy.  Are you ready?  One two, three!  Bang!”

He stood aside and pressed the button that worked the iron curtain.  The heavy panel came crashing to the floor.  The deputy chief was a prisoner.