will come to claim the hundred millions which he has won by means of his incredible audacity."
"And suppose he does not come?" M. Desmalions once more exclaimed, in a more vehement tone.
"Then, Monsieur le Préfet, you may take it that I am the culprit; and you have only to arrest me. This day, between five and six o'clock, you will see before you, in this room, the person who killed the Mornington heirs. It is, humanly speaking, impossible that this should not be so. Consequently, the law will be satisfied in any circumstances. He or I: the position is quite simple."
M. Desmalions was silent. He gnawed his moustache thoughtfully and walked round and round the table, within the narrow circle formed by the others. It was obvious that objections to the supposition were springing up in his mind. In the end, he muttered, as though speaking to himself:
"No, no. For, after all, how are we to explain that the man should have waited until now to claim his rights?"
"An accident, perhaps, Monsieur le Préfet, an obstacle of some kind. Or else—one can never tell—the perverse longing for a more striking sensation. And remember, Monsieur le Préfet, how minutely and subtly the whole business was worked. Each event took place at the very moment fixed by Hippolyte Fauville. Cannot we take it that his accomplice is pursuing this method to the end and that he will not reveal himself until the last minute?"
M. Desmalions exclaimed, with a sort of anger:
"No, no, and again no! It is not possible. If a creature monstrous enough to commit such a series of mur-
