“Under arrest, Monsieur le Prefet?”

“Under arrest?  You’re mad!”

“But, if the deputy chief—­”

“The deputy chief will keep his mouth shut.  I’ll see to that.  Be off!”

Mazeroux fulfilled his mission, not with greater speed than if he had been sent to arrest Don Luis, for Mazeroux was a conscientious man, but with extraordinary pleasure.  The fight which he had been obliged to wage against the man whom he still called “the chief” had often distressed him to the point of tears.  This time he was coming to help him, perhaps to save his life.

That afternoon the deputy chief had ceased his search of the house, by M. Desmalions’s orders, as Don Luis’s escape seemed certain, and left only three men on duty.  Mazeroux found them in a room on the ground floor, where they were sitting up in turns.  In reply to his questions, they declared that they had not heard a sound.

He went upstairs alone, so as to have no witnesses to his interview with the governor, passed through the drawing-room and entered the study.

Here he was overcome with anxiety, for, after turning on the light, the first glance revealed nothing to his eyes.

“Chief!” he cried, repeatedly.  “Where are you, Chief?”

No answer.

“And yet,” thought Mazeroux, “as he telephoned, he can’t be far away.”

In fact, he saw from where he stood that the receiver was hanging from its cord; and, going on to the telephone box, he stumbled over bits of brick and plaster that strewed the carpet.  He then switched on the light in the box as well and saw a hand and arm hanging from the ceiling above him.  The ceiling was broken up all around that arm.  But the shoulder had not been able to pass through; and Mazeroux could not see the captive’s head.

He sprang on to a chair and reached the hand.  He felt it and was reassured by the warmth of its touch.

“Is that you, Mazeroux?” asked a voice that seemed to the sergeant to come from very far away.

“Yes, it’s I. You’re not wounded, are you?  Nothing serious?”

“No, only stunned—­and a bit faint—­from hunger....  Listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Open the second drawer on the left in my writing-desk....  You’ll find—­”

“Yes, Chief?”

“An old stick of chocolate.”

“But—­”

“Do as I tell you, Alexandre; I’m famished.”

Indeed, Don Luis recovered after a moment or two and said, in a gayer voice: 

“That’s better.  I can wait now.  Go to the kitchen and fetch me some bread and some water.”

“I’ll be back at once, Chief.”

“Not this way.  Come back by Florence Levasseur’s room and the secret passage to the ladder which leads to the trapdoor at the top.”

And he told him how to make the stone swing out and how to enter the hollow in which he had expected to meet with such a tragic end.