yet I saw plenty of fine fellows over there, the sort of demons whom you only find in the Legion and who will get themselves cut to bits for the sheer pleasure of the thing, for the lark of it, as they say, just to astonish one another.
"But not one of them came anywhere near Perenna. The chap whom we nicknamed d'Artagnan, Porthos, and de Bussy deserved to be classed with the most amazing heroes of legend and history. I have seen him perform feats which I should not care to relate, for fear of being treated as an impostor; feats so improbable that to-day, in my calmer moments, I wonder if I am quite sure that I did see them. One day, at Settat, as we were being pursued—"
"Another word, Major," cried Don Luis, gayly, "and this time I really will go out! I must say you have a nice way of sparing my modesty!"
"My dear Perenna," replied Comte d'Astrignac, "I always told you that you had every good quality and only one fault, which was that you were not a Frenchman."
"And I always answered, Major, that I was French on my mother's side and a Frenchman in heart and temperament. There are things which only a Frenchman can do."
The two men again gripped each other's hands affectionately.
"Come," said the Prefect, "we'll say no more of your feats of prowess, Monsieur, nor of this report. I will mention one thing, however, which is that, after two years, you fell into an ambush of forty Berbers, that you were captured, and that you did not rejoin the Legion until last month."
"Just so, Monsieur le Préfet, in time to receive my discharge, as my five years' service was up."
"But how did Mr. Cosmo Mornington come to mention you in his will, when, at the time when he was making it, you had disappeared from view for eighteen months?"
"Cosmo and I used to correspond."
"What!"
"Yes; and I had informed him of my approaching escape and my return to Paris."
"But how did you manage it? Where were you? And how did you find the means? … "
Don Luis smiled without answering.
"Monte Cristo, this time," said M. Desmalions. "The mysterious
Monte Cristo."
"Monte Cristo, if you like, Monsieur le Préfet. In point of fact, the mystery of my captivity and escape is a rather strange one. It may be interesting to throw some light upon it one of these days. Meanwhile, I must ask for a little credit."
A silence ensued. M. Desmalions once more inspected this curious individual; and he could not refrain from saying, as though in obedience to an association of ideas for which he himself was unable to account:
"One word more, and one only. What were your comrades' reasons for giving you that rather odd nickname of Arsène Lupin? Was it just an allusion to your pluck, to your physical strength?"
"There was something besides, Monsieur le Préfet: the discovery of a very curious theft, of which certain details, apparently incapable of explanation, had enabled me to name the perpetrator."
"So you have a gift for that sort of thing?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, a certain knack which I had the opportunity of employing in Africa on more than one occasion. Hence my nickname of Arsène Lupin. It was soon after the death of the man himself, you know, and he was much spoken of at the time."
"Was it a serious theft?"
"It was rather; and it happened to be committed upon Cosmo Mornington, who was then living in the Province of Oran. That was really what started our relations."
There was a fresh silence; and Don Luis added:
"Poor Cosmo! That incident gave him an unshakable confidence in my little detective talents. He was always saying, 'Perenna, if I die murdered'—he had a fixed notion in his head that he would meet with a violent death—'if I die murdered, swear that you will pursue the culprit.'"
"His presentiment was not justified," said the Prefect of Police. "Cosmo
Mornington was not murdered."
"That's where you make a mistake, Monsieur le Préfet," said Don Luis.
M. Desmalions gave a start.
"What! What's that? Cosmo Mornington—?"
"I say that Cosmo Mornington did not die, as you think, of a carelessly administered injection, but that he died, as he feared he would, by foul play."
"But, Monsieur, your assertion is based on no evidence whatever!"
"It is based on fact, Monsieur le Préfet."
"Were you there? Do you know anything?"
"I was not there. A month ago I was still with the colours. I even admit
that, when I arrived in Paris, not having seen the newspapers regularly,
I did not know of Cosmo's death. In fact, I learned it from you just now,
Monsieur le Préfet."
"In that case, Monsieur, you cannot know more about it than I do, and you must accept the verdict of the doctor."
"I am sorry, but his verdict fails to satisfy me."
"But look here, Monsieur, what prompts you to make the accusation? Have you any evidence?"
"Yes."
"What evidence?"
"Your own words, Monsieur le Préfet."
"My own words? What do you mean?"
"I will tell you, Monsieur le Préfet. You began by saying that Cosmo Mornington had taken up medicine and practised it with great skill; next, you said that he had given himself an injection which, carelessly administered, set up inflammation and caused his death within a few hours."
"Yes."
"Well, Monsieur le Préfet, I maintain that a man who practises medicine with great skill and who is accustomed to treating sick people, as Cosmo Mornington was, is incapable of giving himself a hypodermic injection without first taking every necessary antiseptic precaution. I have seen Cosmo at work, and I know how he set about things."
"Well?"
"Well, the doctor just wrote a certificate as any doctor will when there is no sort of clue to arouse his suspicions."
"So your opinion is—"
"Maître Lepertuis," asked Perenna, turning to the solicitor, "did you notice nothing unusual when you were summoned to Mr. Mornington's death-bed?"
"No, nothing. Mr. Mornington was in a state of coma."
"It's a strange thing in itself," observed Don Luis, "that an injection, however badly administered, should produce such rapid results. Were there no signs of suffering?"
"No
