M. Desmalions said: 

“Whether he acted in person or caused others to act, the law, once it has hold of him, will know how to—­”

“The law will find it no easy matter, Monsieur le Prefet!  A man of his powers and resource must have foreseen everything, even his arrest, even the accusation of which he would be the subject; and there is little to be brought against him but moral charges without proofs.”

“Then you think—­”

“I think, Monsieur le Prefet, that the thing will be to accept his explanations as quite natural and not to show any distrust.  What you want is to know who he is.  Later on, before long, you will be able to unmask him.”

The Prefect of Police continued to walk round the table.  Major d’Astrignac kept his eyes fixed on Perenna, whose coolness amazed him.  The solicitor and the secretary of Embassy seemed greatly excited.  In fact nothing could be more sensational than the thought that filled all their minds.  Was the abominable murderer about to appear before them?

“Silence!” said the Prefect, stopping his walk.

Some one had crossed the anteroom.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

The office messenger entered, carrying a card-tray.  On the tray was a letter; and in addition there was one of those printed slips on which callers write their name and the object of their visit.

M. Desmalions hastened toward the messenger.  He hesitated a moment before taking up the slip.  He was very pale.  Then he glanced at it quickly.

“Oh!” he said, with a start.

He looked toward Don Luis, reflected, and then, taking the letter, he said to the messenger: 

“Is the bearer outside?”

“In the anteroom, Monsieur le Prefet.”

“Show the person in when I ring.”

The messenger left the room.

M. Desmalions stood in front of his desk, without moving.  For the second time Don Luis met his eyes; and a feeling of perturbation came over him.  What was happening?

With a sharp movement the Prefect of Police opened the envelope which he held in his hand, unfolded the letter and began to read it.

The others watched his every gesture, watched the least change of expression on his face.  Were Perenna’s predictions about to be fulfilled?  Was a fifth heir putting in his claim?

The moment he had read the first lines, M. Desmalions looked up and, addressing Don Luis, murmured: 

“You were right, Monsieur.  This is a claim.”

“On whose part, Monsieur le Prefet?” Don Luis could not help asking.

M. Desmalions did not reply.  He finished reading the letter.  Then he read it again, with the attention of a man weighing every word.  Lastly, he read aloud: 

“MONSIEUR LE PREFET: