yes. … Yes, I remember the face showed brown patches which I did not see on the occasion of my first visit."
"Brown patches? That confirms my supposition Cosmo Mornington was poisoned."
"But how?" exclaimed the Prefect.
"By some substance introduced into one of the phials of glycero-phosphate, or into the syringe which the sick man employed."
"But the doctor?" M. Desmalions objected.
"Maître Lepertuis," Perenna continued, "did you call the doctor's attention to those brown patches?"
"Yes, but he attached no importance to them."
"Was it his ordinary medical adviser?"
"No, his ordinary medical adviser, Doctor Pujol, who happens to be a friend of mine and who had recommended me to him as a solicitor, was ill. The doctor whom I saw at his death-bed must have been a local practitioner."
"I have his name and address here," said the Prefect of Police, who had turned up the certificate. "Doctor Bellavoine, 14 Rue d'Astorg."
"Have you a medical directory, Monsieur le Préfet?"
M. Desmalions opened a directory and turned over the pages. Presently he declared:
"There is no Doctor Bellavoine; and there is no doctor living at 14 Rue d'Astorg."
CHAPTER TWO
A MAN DEAD
The declaration was followed by a silence of some length. The Secretary of the American Embassy and the Peruvian attaché had followed the conversation with eager interest. Major d'Astrignac nodded his head with an air of approval. To his mind, Perenna could not be mistaken.
The Prefect of Police confessed:
"Certainly, certainly … we have a number of circumstances here … that are fairly ambiguous. … Those brown patches; that doctor. … It's a case that wants looking into." And, questioning Don Luis Perenna as though in spite of himself, he asked, "No doubt, in your opinion, there is a possible connection between the murder … and Mr. Mornington's will?"
"That, Monsieur le Préfet, I cannot tell. If there is, we should have to suppose that the contents of the will were known. Do you think they can have leaked out, Maître Lepertuis?"
"I don't think so, for Mr. Mornington seemed to behave with great caution."
"And there's no question, is there, of any indiscretion committed in your office?"
"By whom? No one handled the will except myself; and I alone have the key of the safe in which I put away documents of that importance every evening."
"The safe has not been broken into? There has been no burglary at your office?"
"No."
"You saw Cosmo Mornington in the morning?"
"Yes, on a Friday morning."
"What did you do with the will until the evening, until you locked it away up your safe?"
"I probably put it in the drawer of my desk."
"And the drawer was not forced?"
Maître Lepertuis seemed taken aback and made no reply.
"Well?" asked Perenna.
"Well, yes, I remember … there was something that day … that same Friday."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. When I came in from lunch I noticed that the drawer was not locked, although I had locked it beyond the least doubt. At the time I attached comparatively little importance to the incident. To-day, I understand, I understand—"
Thus, little by little, were all the suppositions conceived by Don Luis verified: suppositions resting, it is true, upon just one or two clues, but yet containing an amount of intuition, of divination, that was really surprising in a man who had been present at none of the events between which he traced the connection so skilfully.
"We will lose no time, Monsieur," said the Prefect of Police, "in checking your statements, which you will confess to be a little venturesome, by the more positive evidence of one of my detectives who has the case in charge … and who ought to be here by now."
"Does his evidence bear upon Cosmo Mornington's heirs?" asked the solicitor.
"Upon the heirs principally, because two days ago he telephoned to me that he had collected all the particulars, and also upon the very points which—But wait: I remember that he spoke to my secretary of a murder committed a month ago to-day. … Now it's a month to-day since Mr. Cosmo Mornington—"
M. Desmalions pressed hard on a bell. His private secretary at once appeared.
"Inspector Vérot?" asked the Prefect sharply.
"He's not back yet."
"Have him fetched! Have him brought here! He must be found at all costs and without delay."
He turned to Don Luis Perenna.
"Inspector Vérot was here an hour ago, feeling rather unwell, very much excited, it seems, and declaring that he was being watched and followed. He said he wanted to make a most important statement to me about the Mornington case and to warn the police of two murders which are to be committed to-night … and which would be a consequence of the murder of Cosmo Mornington."
"And he was unwell, you say?"
"Yes, ill at ease and even very queer and imagining things. By way of being prudent, he left a detailed report on the case for me. Well, the report is simply a blank sheet of letter-paper.
"Here is the paper and the envelope in which I found it, and here is a cardboard box which he also left behind him. It contains a cake of chocolate with the marks of teeth on it."
"May I look at the two things you have mentioned, Monsieur le Préfet?"
"Yes, but they won't tell you anything."
"Perhaps so—"
Don Luis examined at length the cardboard box and the yellow envelope, on which were printed the words, "Café du Pont-Neuf." The others awaited his words as though they were bound to shed an unexpected light. He merely said:
"The handwriting is not the same on the envelope and the box. The writing on the envelope is less plain, a little shaky, obviously imitated."
"Which proves—?"
"Which proves, Monsieur le Préfet, that this yellow envelope does not come from your detective. I presume that, after writing his report at a table in the Café du Pont-Neuf and
