Part 21 (1/2)

Carefully removing the dart, d.i.c.k hurried with it to the laboratory of Doctor Lepine, the well-known toxicologist.

Doctor Lepine smiled.

”Lucky you didn't scratch yourself with it, Monsieur Manton,” he said in French. ”It would mean almost instant death!”

He listened gravely as d.i.c.k described the death of the two police agents. The doctor had been away in England at the time and had not even heard of the circ.u.mstances. But he hurried round to the Prefecture with d.i.c.k and carefully examined the doc.u.ments which dealt with the two cases and described minutely the appearance of the bodies.

”I have not the slightest doubt,” he declared, ”that both men were killed with one of these darts. Every indication points to it. But as the darts were not found we must presume they were removed after death to avoid arousing suspicion. The victim would be paralysed almost instantly, and would fall and die almost on the spot where he was standing when the dart infected him. If there are any more of these accursed things in Paris it will, I fear, be a difficult matter to protect Monsieur le Prefet, for a favourable opportunity must come in the long run.”

d.i.c.k hurried back to Kapok's room, meaning to secure the blow-pipe. To his amazement the deadly weapon had disappeared! The police agents on duty outside the room a.s.serted that no one had entered. But an open window told its tale; some one had crept along the ledge outside, entered the room and possessed himself of the weapon.

d.i.c.k spent several anxious hours with the Prefet, Raoul Gregoire, and Inspector Roquet, arranging a plan of campaign.

Next morning found him crouched in an upper window of a locked room in a house facing the old villa in the Place d'Italie. Close at hand lay a powerful pneumatic gun, a weapon perfected by Jules and almost as deadly and efficient as a rifle. He was haunted by a sickening _sense_ of foreboding. Against every evidence of his reason and senses he felt convinced that it was from that old villa that danger threatened Gregoire.

Yet he was bound to admit that his fears seemed absurd. The old house opposite was packed with sightseers, but there was a detective in every room close to the window. Even the garrets had been searched. It was obvious that they had not been entered for months.

Yet d.i.c.k could not shake off the uncanny feeling which haunted him.

At last the head of the procession came in sight, with the blare of military bands and a crash of cheers from the thousands of spectators lining the streets. But d.i.c.k had no eyes for the show. His whole attention was riveted on the building before him.

The Sultan Ahmed Moha.s.sib, of Morocco, in his white _burnous_ with many decorations, pa.s.sed amid a hurricane of cheers. Glancing along the procession d.i.c.k saw the Prefet--a soldierly figure sitting erect in his car. In a few moments he would be abreast of the villa.

Suddenly d.i.c.k's eye was caught by a flash of light. Glancing quickly upward he saw to his amazement that the window of a garret facing him--a room which had already been searched--had suddenly opened. Only the chance reflection of the sun upon the gla.s.s had attracted his attention to the swift movement.

As Raoul Gregoire pa.s.sed, a dark rod, clutched in a hand which rested on the grimy windowsill, projected itself from the window. It wavered for a moment, then steadied itself and pointed downward.

Instantly d.i.c.k fired.

The hand disappeared with a jerk, while the rod slid forward and fell over to the ground!

Wild with excitement d.i.c.k dashed down into the street. It was utterly impossible to force his way through the cheering crowd and he could only watch Monsieur le Prefet in a fever of anxiety.

It was soon dear that Raoul Gregoire was untouched. Evidently the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin, if he had indeed dispatched one of the poisoned darts, had missed his aim.

Five minutes later d.i.c.k and half a dozen detectives were in the garret of the old villa. But they were too late. The bird had flown, badly hurt to judge by the blood which stained the floor. But on the window-sill lay three little poisoned darts ready for use.

A glance at the open skylight in the low roof was enough. In a moment they were out on the roof of the adjoining house.

A few yards away was a rope ladder hooked over the parapet and dangling to the exterior fire-escape leading from the roof of a big drapery store only ten feet below. The miscreant himself had vanished.

The would-be murderer, it was clear, must have climbed the fire-escape during the darkness of the previous night, and lain hidden on the roofs till the procession came along. After the garret had been searched, he had slipped down with impunity while every one was excitedly watching the procession.

They never caught him. But when Gregoire returned to the Prefecture a poisoned dart was found sticking in the upholstery of his car, close to his head. Had it been a bare half-inch lower down it would, no doubt, have struck him with fatal result. d.i.c.k's lightning shot had spoilt the miscreant's aim and saved the Prefet's life.

The incident is one of the secrets of the life of official Paris and led to the Prefet's resignation a month later, an occurrence which filled all France with dismay and was the cause of much conjecture and speculation.

Raoul Gregoire has returned to the provinces and is now Prefet of the Department of the Alpes-Maritimes an appointment which he much prefers.

CHAPTER EIGHT.