“You see, Sergeant, that it was not worth while to disguise yourself as a cab-driver and betray your duty.  You should never betray your duty, Sergeant.  Ask your own conscience:  I am sure that it will judge you according to your deserts.”

Don Luis had spoken the truth.  Recognizing how greatly the deaths of Marie Fauville and Sauverand had altered the situation, he considered it wise to move to a place of safety.  His excuse for not doing so before was that he hoped to receive news of Florence Levasseur either by letter or by telephone.  As the girl persisted in keeping silence, there was no reason why Don Luis should risk an arrest which the course of events made extremely probable.

And in fact his anticipations were correct.  Next morning Mazeroux came to the little flat in the Rue de Rivoli looking very spry.

“You’ve had a narrow escape, Chief.  Weber heard this morning that the bird had flown.  He’s simply furious!  And you must confess that the tangle is getting worse and worse.  They’re utterly at a loss at headquarters.  They don’t even know how to set about prosecuting Florence Levasseur.

“You must have read about it in the papers.  The examining magistrate maintains that, as Fauville committed suicide and killed his son Edmond, Florence Levasseur has nothing to do with the matter.  In his opinion the case is closed on that side.  Well, he’s a good one, the examining magistrate!  What about Gaston Sauverand’s death?  Isn’t it as clear as daylight that Florence had a hand in it, as well as in all the rest?

“Wasn’t it in her room, in a volume of Shakespeare, that documents were found relating to M. Fauville’s arrangements about the letters and the explosion?  And then—­”

Mazeroux interrupted himself, frightened by the look in Don Luis’s eyes and realizing that the chief was fonder of the girl then ever.  Guilty or not, she inspired him with the same passion.

“All right,” said Mazeroux, “we’ll say no more about it.  The future will bear me out, you’ll see.”

* * * * *

The days passed.  Mazeroux called as often as possible, or else telephoned to Don Luis all the details of the two inquiries that were being pursued at Saint-Lazare and at the Sante Prison.

Vain inquiries, as we know.  While Don Luis’s statements relating to the electric chandelier and the automatic distribution of the mysterious letters were found to be correct, the investigation failed to reveal anything about the two suicides.

At most, it was ascertained that, before his arrest, Sauverand had tried to enter into correspondence with Marie through one of the tradesmen supplying the infirmary.  Were they to suppose that the phial of poison and the hypodermic syringe had been introduced by the same means?  It was impossible to prove; and, on the other hand, it was impossible to discover how the newspaper cuttings telling of Marie’s suicide had found their way into Gaston Sauverand’s cell.