that they can't communicate with one another, and let me have their cards
when they come."

The messenger went out. The secretary was turning toward the small door
that led to his room, when the main door opened once more and admitted a
man who stopped and leaned swaying over the back of a chair.

"Why, it's you, Vérot!" said the secretary. "But what's happened? What's
the matter?"

Inspector Vérot was a very stout, powerfully built man, with a big neck
and shoulders and a florid complexion. He had obviously been upset by
some violent excitement, for his face, streaked with red veins and
usually so apoplectic, seemed almost pale.

"Oh, nothing. Monsieur le Secrétaire!" he said.

"Yes, yes; you're not looking your usual self. You're gray in the
face.... And the way you're perspiring...."

Inspector Vérot wiped his forehead and, pulling himself together, said:

"It's just a little tiredness.... I've been overworking myself lately: I
was very keen on clearing up a case which Monsieur Desmalions had put in
my hands. All the same, I have a funny sort of feeling--"

"Will you have a pick-me-up?"

"No, no; I'm more thirsty."