Perdeau knew. For perhaps twenty seconds longer, Perdeau remained under the bald illumination of the single lamp light, then he turned and dashed out of the shop and into the narrow street.
Now to the laboratory.
Perdeau knew, even as he took to the darkened alleys as he sought his way back to the laboratory, that he couldn't have carried out the scheme with more cunning perfection. And he smiled savagely, thinking of Mortain's bewilderment when morning would come.
His own story would be simple, convincing. Yes, he had known Mortain. Had known the poor fellow long ago. That was why he had given him clothing and shelter these past weeks. Mortain had been seeking work of some kind. Until he got it Perdeau was taking pity on him. No one would question the story of a reputable scientist. No one would think to take Mortain's word against his own—now that those damning papers were destroyed.
In the darkness of the alley, Perdeau heard the first sound of chase. A police siren wailed far in the distance, somewhere in the vicinity of the cobbler's shop. The noose of evidence was rapidly closing around Mortain's thick neck.
Perdeau smiled and hastened onward. It was so clever, so ironic. He quickened his pace still further. There might not be a great deal of time in which to make the change back to his own body. Ten minutes later he arrived in front of the old loft building in which he had his laboratory.
Perdeau stopped suddenly. Something was wrong here. A crowd was gathered in front of the building!
Cars were pulled up in front of the laboratory doors; the black cars of the police!
Perdeau was at the fringe of the crowd, and now he stood beside an old man. Perdeau grabbed the old man suddenly by the arm.
"What is this?" he demanded. "What has happened here, old fellow?"
"It is in the laboratory," the old man said.
Perdeau gritted his teeth in anger at the old fellow's stupidity.
"Go on, what happened?" He shook the old man's arm roughly.
"The scientist, Jacques Perdeau," the old man said, "was found by a watchman locked inside the laboratory. Perdeau's frantic pounding on the doors attracted the watchman. When the watchman opened the door he found Perdeau frothing at the mouth and gibbering madly. The man was utterly insane!"
PERDEAU listened as the old man rambled on. Listened while cold fingers of terror squeezed in on his heart.
"Perdeau was screaming wildly that he was not Perdeau," the old fellow said, shaking his head in pity. "He insisted that he was someone else, and that Perdeau had stolen his body! It was terrible, monsieur. Mad, you understand? Utterly imbecilic. He grabbed a gun from the watchman, then, and before he could be stopped, Jacques Perdeau turned the gun on himself and blew his brains out!" The old man made a face of horror. "They just called the police to take the body away." He sighed. "It is a pity, these men of genius work too hard. I have heard of it before. There was a—"
But Jacques Perdeau had wheeled sickly away from the old man. He staggered drunkenly, dazedly away from the glare of the streetlights. He stood there near an alley, a safe dis-
(Concluded on page 146)
