The Teeth of the Tiger by Maurice Leblanc (e book reader android TXT) 📕

will joyfully accept every charge and pay every penalty, provided that Marie is free! Save her!⁠ ⁠… I did not know, I do not yet know the best thing to be done! Save her from prison and death, save her, for God’s sake, save her!”

Tears flowed down his anguish-stricken face. Florence also was crying, bowed down with sorrow. And Perenna suddenly felt the most terrible dread steal over him.

Although, ever since the beginning of the interview, a fresh conviction had gradually been mastering him, it was only as it were a glance that he became aware of it. Suddenly he perceived that his belief in Sauverand’s words was unrestricted, and that Florence was perhaps not the loathsome creature that he had had the right to think, but a woman whose eyes did not lie and whose face and soul were alike beautiful.

Suddenly he learnt that the two people before him, as well as Marie Fauville, for love of whom they had fought so unskilful a fight, were imprisoned in an iron circle which their efforts would not succeed in breaking. And that circle traced by an unknown hand he, Perenna, had drawn tighter around them with the most ruthless determination.

“If only it is not too late!” he muttered.

He staggered under the shock of the sensations and ideas that crowded upon him. Everything clashed in his brain with tragic violence: certainty, joy, dismay, despair, fury. He was struggling in the clutches of the most hideous nightmare; and he already seemed to see a detective’s heavy hand descending on Florence’s shoulder.

“Come away! Come away!” he cried, starting up in alarm. “It is madness to remain!”

“But the house is surrounded,” Sauverand objected.

“And then? Do you think that I will allow for a second⁠—? No, no, come! We must fight side by side. I shall still entertain some doubts, that is certain. You must destroy them; and we will save Mme. Fauville.”

“But the detectives round the house?”

“We’ll manage them.”

“Weber, the deputy chief?”

“He’s not here. And as long as he’s not here I’ll take everything on myself. Come, follow me, but at some little distance. When I give the signal and not till then⁠—”

He drew the bolt and turned the handle of the door. At that moment someone knocked. It was the butler.

“Well?” asked Don Luis. “Why am I disturbed?”

“The deputy chief detective, M. Weber, is here, sir.”

XI Routed

Don Luis had certainly expected this formidable blow; and yet it appeared to take him unawares, and he repeated more than once:

“Ah, Weber is here! Weber is here!”

All his buoyancy left him, and he felt like a retreating army which, after almost making good its escape, suddenly finds itself brought to a stop by a steep mountain. Weber was there⁠—that is to say, the chief leader of the enemies, the man who would be sure to plan the attack and the resistance in such a manner as to dash Perenna’s hopes to the ground. With Weber at the head of the detectives, any attempt to force a way out would have been absurd.

“Did you let him in?” he asked.

“You did not tell me not to, sir.”

“Is he alone?”

“No, sir, the deputy chief has six men with him. He has left them in the courtyard.”

“And where is he?”

“He asked me to take him to the first floor. He expected to find you in your study, sir.”

“Does he know now that I am with Sergeant Mazeroux and Mlle. Levasseur?”

“Yes, sir.”

Perenna thought for a moment and then said:

“Tell him that you have not found me and that you are going to look for me in Mlle. Levasseur’s rooms. Perhaps he will go with you. All the better if he does.”

And he locked the door again.

The struggle through which he had just passed did not show itself on his face; and, now that all was lost, now that he was called upon to act, he recovered that wonderful composure which never abandoned him at decisive moments. He went up to Florence. She was very pale and was silently weeping. He said:

“You must not be frightened, Mademoiselle. If you obey me implicitly, you will have nothing to fear.”

She did not reply and he saw that she still mistrusted him. And he almost rejoiced at the thought that he would compel her to believe in him.

“Listen to me,” he said to Sauverand. “In case I should not succeed after all, there are still several things which you must explain.”

“What are they?” asked Sauverand, who had lost none of his coolness.

Then, collecting all his riotous thoughts, resolved to omit nothing, but at the same time to speak only what was essential, Don Luis asked, in a calm voice:

“Where were you on the morning before the murder, when a man carrying an ebony walking-stick and answering to your description entered the Café du Pont-Neuf immediately after Inspector Vérot?”

“At home.”

“Are you sure that you did not go out?”

“Absolutely sure. And I am also sure that I have never been to the Café du Pont-Neuf, of which I had never even heard.”

“Good. Next question. Why, when you learned all about this business, did you not go to the Prefect of Police or the examining magistrate? It would have been simpler for you to give yourself up and tell the exact truth than to engage in this unequal fight.”

“I was thinking of doing so. But I at once realized that the plot hatched against me was so clever that no bare statement of the truth would have been enough to convince the authorities. They would never have believed me. What proof could I supply? None at all⁠—whereas, on the other hand, the proofs against us were overwhelming and undeniable. Were not the marks of the teeth evidence of Marie’s undoubted guilt? And were not my silence, my flight, the shooting of Chief Inspector Ancenis so many crimes? No, if I would rescue Marie, I must remain free.”

“But she could have spoken herself?”

“And confessed our love? Apart from the fact that her womanly modesty would have prevented