The Teeth of the Tiger. Морис Леблан

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      "My precautions are taken, gentlemen, and well taken. And, on the other hand, I am afraid that your interference may do harm."

      "In what way?"

      "By arousing the attention of my enemies and preventing me, for that reason, from collecting proofs which I need in order to confound them."

      "Can you explain—?"

      "No, I cannot … To-morrow, to-morrow morning—not before."

      "And if it's too late?" Don Luis interjected.

      "Too late? To-morrow?"

      "Inspector Vérot told M. Desmalions's secretary that the two murders would take place to-night. He said it was fatal and irrevocable."

      "To-night?" cried Fauville angrily. "I tell you no! Not to-night. I'm sure of that. There are things which I know, aren't there, which you do not?"

      "Yes," retorted Don Luis, "but there may also be things which Inspector Vérot knew and which you don't know. He had perhaps learned more of your enemies' secrets than you did. The proof is that he was suspected, that a man carrying an ebony walking-stick was seen watching his movements, that, lastly, he was killed."

      Hippolyte Fauville's self-assurance decreased. Perenna took advantage of this to insist; and he insisted to such good purpose that Fauville, though without withdrawing from his reserve, ended by yielding before a will that was stronger than his own.

      "Well, but you surely don't intend to spend the night in here?"

      "We do indeed."

      "Why, it's ridiculous! It's sheer waste of time! After all, looking at things from the worst—And what do you want besides?"

      "Who lives in the house?"

      "Who? My wife, to begin with. She has the first floor."

      "Mme. Fauville is not threatened?"

      "No, not at all. It's I who am threatened with death; I and my son Edmond. That is why, for the past week, instead of sleeping in my regular bedroom, I have locked myself up in this room. I have given my work as a pretext; a quantity of writing which keeps me up very late and for which I need my son's assistance."

      "Does he sleep here, then?"

      "He sleeps above us, in a little room which I have had arranged for him.

       The only access to it is by this inner staircase."

      "Is he there now?"

      "Yes, he's asleep."

      "How old is he?"

      "Sixteen."

      "But the fact that you have changed your room shows that you feared some one would attack you. Whom had you in mind? An enemy living in the house? One of your servants? Or people from the outside? In that case, how could they get in? The whole question lies in that."

      "To-morrow, to-morrow," replied Fauville, obstinately. "I will explain everything to-morrow—"

      "Why not to-night?" Perenna persisted.

      "Because I want proofs, I tell you; because the mere fact of my talking may have terrible consequences—and I am frightened; yes, I'm frightened—"

      He was trembling, in fact, and looked so wretched and terrified that Don

       Luis insisted no longer.

      "Very well," he said, "I will only ask your permission, for my comrade and myself, to spend the night where we can hear you if you call."

      "As you please, Monsieur. Perhaps, after all, that will be best."

      At that moment one of the servants knocked and came in to say that his mistress wished to see the master before she went out. Madame Fauville entered almost immediately. She bowed pleasantly as Perenna and Mazeroux rose from their chairs.

      She was a woman between thirty and thirty-five, a woman of a bright and smiling beauty, which she owed to her blue eyes, to her wavy hair, to all the charm of her rather vapid but amiable and very pretty face. She wore a long, figured-silk cloak over an evening dress that showed her fine shoulders.

      Her husband said, in surprise

      "Are you going out to-night?"

      "You forget," she said. "The Auverards offered me a seat in their box at the opera; and you yourself asked me to look in at Mme. d'Ersingen's party afterward—"

      "So I did, so I did," he said. "It escaped my memory; I am working so hard."

      She finished buttoning her gloves and asked:

      "Won't you come and fetch me at Mme. d'Ersingen's?"

      "What for?"

      "They would like it."

      "But I shouldn't. Besides, I don't feel well enough."

      "Then I'll make your apologies for you."

      "Yes, do."

      She drew her cloak around her with a graceful gesture, and stood for a few moments, without moving, as though seeking a word of farewell. Then she said:

      "Edmond's not here! I thought he was working with you?"

      "He was feeling tired."

      "Is he asleep?"

      "Yes."

      "I wanted to kiss him good-night."

      "No, you would only wake him. And here's your car; so go, dear. Amuse yourself."

      "Oh, amuse myself!" she said. "There's not much amusement about the opera and an evening party."

      "Still, it's better than keeping one's room."

      There was some little constraint. It was obviously one of those ill-assorted households in which the husband, suffering in health and not caring for the pleasures of society, stays at home, while the wife seeks the enjoyments to which her age and habits entitle her.

      As he said nothing more, she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. Then, once more bowing to the two visitors, she went out. A moment later they heard the sound of the motor driving away.

      Hippolyte Fauville at once rose and rang the bell. Then he said:

      "No one here has any idea of the danger hanging over me. I have confided in nobody, not even in Silvestre, my own man, though he has been in my service for years and is honesty itself."

      The manservant entered.

      "I am going to bed, Silvestre," said M. Fauville. "Get everything ready."

      Silvestre opened the upper part of the great sofa, which СКАЧАТЬ