"Monsieur le Préfet, I would remind you that Inspector Vérot's revelations may save the lives of two persons who are doomed to die to-night. Every minute lost is irreparable."
M. Desmalions shrugged his shoulders. But that man mastered him with the power of his conviction; and the Prefect opened the door.
He did not make a movement, did not utter a cry. He simply muttered:
"Oh, is it possible!"
By the pale gleam of light that entered through a ground-glass window they saw the body of a man lying on the floor.
"The inspector! Inspector Vérot!" gasped the office messenger, running forward.
He and the secretary raised the body and placed it in an armchair in the Prefect's office.
Inspector Vérot was still alive, but so little alive that they could scarcely hear the beating of his heart. A drop of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were devoid of all expression. However, certain muscles of the face kept moving, perhaps with the effort of a will that seemed to linger almost beyond life.
Don Luis muttered:
"Look, Monsieur le Préfet—the brown patches!"
The same dread unnerved all. They began to ring bells and open doors and call for help.
"Send for the doctor!" ordered M. Desmalions. "Tell them to bring a doctor, the first that comes—and a priest. We can't let the poor man"
Don Luis raised his arm to demand silence.
"There is nothing more to be done," he said. "We
