“Alexandre, just count ten.”

“A hundred, if you like, but you shall not....”

“Oh, blow your catchwords!  Get out of this.”

He seized Mazeroux by both shoulders, made him spin round on his heels and, with a push, sent him floundering over the sofa.  Then he opened the door.

“Halt, or I fire!”

It was Mazeroux, who had scrambled to his feet and now stood with his revolver in his hand and a determined expression on his face.

Don Luis stopped in amazement.  The threat was absolutely indifferent to him, and the barrel of that revolver aimed at him left him as cold as could be.  But by what prodigy did Mazeroux, his former accomplice, his ardent disciple, his devoted servant, by what prodigy did Mazeroux dare to act as he was doing?

Perenna went up to him and pressed gently on the detective’s outstretched arm.

“Prefect’s orders?” he asked.

“Yes,” muttered the sergeant, uncomfortably.

“Orders to keep me here until he comes?”

“Yes.”

“And if I betrayed an intention of leaving, to prevent me?”

“Yes.”

“By every means?”

“Yes.”

“Even by putting a bullet through my skin?”

“Yes.”

Perenna reflected; and then, in a serious voice: 

“Would you have fired, Mazeroux?”

The sergeant lowered his head and said faintly: 

“Yes, Chief.”

Perenna looked at him without anger, with a glance of affectionate sympathy; and it was an absorbing sight for him to see his former companion dominated by such a sense of discipline and duty.  Nothing was able to prevail against that sense, not even the fierce admiration, the almost animal attachment which Mazeroux retained for his master.

“I’m not angry, Mazeroux.  In fact, I approve.  Only you must tell me the reason why the Prefect of Police—­”

The detective did not reply, but his eyes wore an expression of such sadness that Don Luis started, suddenly understanding.

“No,” he cried, “no!...  It’s absurd ... he can’t have thought that!...  And you, Mazeroux, do you believe me guilty?”

“Oh, I, Chief, am as sure of you as I am of myself!...  You don’t take life!...  But, all the same, there are things ... coincidences—­”

“Things ... coincidences ...” repeated Don Luis slowly.

He remained pensive; and, in a low voice, he said: 

“Yes, after all, there’s truth in what you say....  Yes, it all fits in....  Why didn’t I think of it?...  My relations with Cosmo Mornington, my arrival in Paris in time for the reading of the will, my insisting on spending the night here, the fact that the death of the two Fauvilles undoubtedly gives me the millions....  And then ... and then ... why, he’s absolutely right, your Prefect of Police!...  All the more so as....  Well, there, I’m a goner!”

“Come, come, Chief!”