Part 66 (2/2)

”And how was it,” added Don Luis, laughing, ”that I found there the list of the five dates corresponding with the delivery of the letters?”

”So you are of my opinion?” said M. Desmalions. ”The part played by Mlle.

Leva.s.seur is at least suspicious.”

”I believe that everything will be cleared up, Monsieur le Prefet, and that you need now only question Mme. Fauville and Gaston Sauverand in order to dispel these last obscurities and remove all suspicion from Mlle. Leva.s.seur.”

”And then,” insisted M. Desmalions, ”there is one more fact that strikes me as odd. Hippolyte Fauville does not once mention the Mornington inheritance in his confession. Why? Did he not know of it? Are we to suppose that there is no connection, beyond a mere casual coincidence, between the series of crimes and that bequest?”

”There, I am entirely of your opinion, Monsieur le Prefet. Hippolyte Fauville's silence as to that bequest perplexes me a little, I confess.

But all the same I look upon it as comparatively unimportant. The main thing is Fauville's guilt and the prisoners' innocence.”

Don Luis's delight was pure and unbounded. From his point of view, the sinister tragedy was at an end with the discovery of the confession written by Hippolyte Fauville. Anything not explained in those lines would be explained by the details to be supplied by Mme. Fauville, Florence Leva.s.seur, and Gaston Sauverand. He himself had lost all interest in the matter.

The car drew up at Saint-Lazare, the wretched, sordid old prison which is still waiting to be pulled down.

The Prefect jumped out. The door was opened at once.

”Is the prison governor there?” he asked. ”Quick! send for him, it's urgent.”

Then, unable to wait, he at once hastened toward the corridors leading to the infirmary and, as he reached the first-floor landing, came up against the governor himself.

”Mme. Fauville,” he said, without waste of time. ”I want to see her--”

But he stopped short when he saw the expression of consternation on the prison governor's face.

”Well, what is it?” he asked. ”What's the matter?”

”Why, haven't you heard, Monsieur le Prefet?” stammered the governor. ”I telephoned to the office, you know--”

”Speak! What is it?”

”Mme. Fauville died this morning. She managed somehow to take poison.”

M. Desmalions seized the governor by the arm and ran to the infirmary, followed by Perenna and Mazeroux.

He saw Marie Fauville lying on a bed in one of the rooms. Her pale face and her shoulders were stained with brown patches, similar to those which had marked the bodies of Inspector Verot, Hippolyte Fauville, and his son Edmond.

Greatly upset, the Prefect murmured:

”But the poison--where did it come from?”

”This phial and syringe were found under her pillow, Monsieur le Prefet.”

”Under her pillow? But how did they get there? How did they reach her?

Who gave them to her?”

”We don't know yet, Monsieur le Prefet.”

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