Part 27 (2/2)

The inspector replaced the lamp upon the dissecting-table and examined the lock of hair. It was still moist, and there were distinct traces of blood where it had been cut off from the head.

”Ah!”

The world of satisfaction in that e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was not communicated to the students, who were speechless with astonishment.

”Yes,” said the inspector, as if he were continuing an unimportant conversation, ”Monsieur le Commissaire is rather--rather--show me the rest of the place, please,” and without waiting for formal permission proceeded, lamp in hand, on his own account.

”So! One sleeps here?”

”Occasionally, monsieur.”

He looked under the cot.

”Then you must have the rest of the bed; where is it?”

His quick eye had discovered the inconsistency of the mattress,--as, indeed, Ma.s.sard himself had already done,--and his fertile brain jumped at once from cause to effect.

”Probably to wrap the body in. Where's the sink?”

In the little antechamber, redolent with the peculiar and indescribable odor of human flesh and its preservatives, was a long ice-chest, a big iron sink, an old-fas.h.i.+oned range, pots, pans, shelves with bottles, etc.

Ma.s.sard hurriedly opened the chest, as if half expecting to see a human body there.

But Inspector Loup scarcely glanced at this receptacle for ”subjects.”

His eyes sought and found the metal basin such as doctors use during operations.

The basin was still wet, and minute spots of red appeared upon its rim. A sponge lay near. It had recently been soaked. The inspector squeezed the sponge over the basin and obtained water stained with red.

”Blood,” said he.

”Blood!” echoed the alarmed students.

”She's alive,” said the inspector, more to himself than to his dumfounded auditors,--”alive, probably, else whoever brought her here would have kept her here.”

He returned abruptly to the other room, and depositing the lamp, turned to Lerouge,--

”Were you expecting anybody else here to-night, monsieur?”

”Why, yes; Jean Marot----”

The possibility flashed upon the three young men at once, but it seemed too preposterous. The inspector had turned to the window and blown a shrill whistle.

”Pardon me, young gentlemen, but I'll not disturb you any longer than I can help. What is Jean Marot's address? Good! I will leave you company. You will not mind? Dubat will entertain you. It is better than resting in the station-house, eh?”

With this pleasantry Inspector Loup hurried away, s.n.a.t.c.hed a cab, and was driven rapidly to the address in the Faubourg St. Honore.

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