Perenna paused to note the effect of these charges.  Then he went on: 

“I accuse him of conveying to Gaston Sauverand, by some unknown means, the newspaper cuttings about Marie Fauville’s death and, at the same time, foreseeing the inevitable results of his act.  To sum up, therefore, without mentioning his share in the other crimes—­the death of Inspector Verot, the death of my chauffeur—­I accuse him of killing Cosmo Mornington, Edmond Fauville, Hippolyte Fauville, Marie Fauville, and Gaston Sauverand; in plain words, of killing all those who stood between the millions and himself.  These last words, Monsieur le Prefet, will tell you clearly what I have in my mind.

“When a man does away with five of his fellow creatures in order to secure a certain number of millions, it means that he is convinced that this proceeding will positively and mathematically insure his entering into possession of the millions.  In short, when a man does away with a millionaire and his four successive heirs, it means that he himself is the millionaire’s fifth heir.  The man will be here in a moment.”

“What!”

It was a spontaneous exclamation on the part of the Prefect of Police, who was forgetting the whole of Don Luis Perenna’s powerful and closely reasoned argument, and thinking only of the stupefying apparition which Don Luis announced.  Don Luis replied: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, his visit is the logical outcome of my accusations.  Remember that Cosmo Mornington’s will explicitly states that no heir’s claim will be valid unless he is present at to-day’s meeting.”

“And suppose he does not come?” asked the Prefect, thus showing that Don Luis’s conviction had gradually got the better of his doubts.

“He will come, Monsieur le Prefet.  If not, there would have been no sense in all this business.  Limited to the crimes and other actions of Hippolyte Fauville, it could be looked upon as the preposterous work of a madman.  Continued to the deaths of Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, it demands, as its inevitable outcome, the appearance of a person who, as the last descendant of the Roussels of Saint-Etienne and consequently as Cosmo Mornington’s absolute heir, taking precedence of myself, will come to claim the hundred millions which he has won by means of his incredible audacity.”

“And suppose he does not come?” M. Desmalions once more exclaimed, in a more vehement tone.

“Then, Monsieur le Prefet, you may take it that I am the culprit; and you have only to arrest me.  This day, between five and six o’clock, you will see before you, in this room, the person who killed the Mornington heirs.  It is, humanly speaking, impossible that this should not be so.  Consequently, the law will be satisfied in any circumstances.  He or I:  the position is quite simple.”

M. Desmalions was silent.  He gnawed his moustache thoughtfully and walked round and round the table, within the narrow circle formed by the others.  It was obvious that objections to the supposition were springing up in his mind.  In the end, he muttered, as though speaking to himself: