The Prefect of Police entered his office at ten minutes to five. M. Desmalions, who had filled his post for the past three years with an authority that made him generally respected, was a heavily built man of fifty with a shrewd and intelligent face. His dress, consisting of a gray jacket-suit, white spats, and a loosely flowing tie, in no way suggested the public official. His manners were easy, simple, and full of good-natured frankness.
He touched a bell, and when his secretary entered, asked:
"Are the people whom I sent for here?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, and I gave orders that they were to wait in different rooms."
"Oh, it would not have mattered if they had met! However, perhaps it's better as it is. I hope that the American Ambassador did not trouble to come in person?"
"No, Monsieur le Préfet."
"Have you their cards?"
"Yes."
The Prefect of Police took the five visiting cards which his secretary handed him and read:
"Mr. Archibald Bright, First Secretary United States Embassy; Maître Lepertuis, Solicitor; Juan Caceres, Attaché to the Peruvian Legation; Major Comte d'Astrignac, retired."
The fifth card bore merely a name, without address or quality of any kind—
DON LUIS PERENNA
