M. Desmalions shrugged his shoulders. But that man mastered him with the
power of his conviction; and the Prefect opened the door.

He did not make a movement, did not utter a cry. He simply muttered:

"Oh, is it possible!--"

By the pale gleam of light that entered through a ground-glass window
they saw the body of a man lying on the floor.

"The inspector! Inspector Vérot!" gasped the office messenger,
running forward.

He and the secretary raised the body and placed it in an armchair in the
Prefect's office.

Inspector Vérot was still alive, but so little alive that they could
scarcely hear the beating of his heart. A drop of saliva trickled from
the corner of his mouth. His eyes were devoid of all expression. However,
certain muscles of the face kept moving, perhaps with the effort of a
will that seemed to linger almost beyond life.

Don Luis muttered:

"Look, Monsieur le Préfet--the brown patches!"

The same dread unnerved all. They began to ring bells and open doors and
call for help.

"Send for the doctor!" ordered M. Desmalions. "Tell them to bring a