into a big bundle of papers that lay on the Prefect's desk and went out
by the door leading to his own room.

He had hardly closed it behind him when the other door opened once again
and the inspector returned, spluttering:

"Monsieur le Secrétaire ... it'd be better if I showed you--"

The unfortunate man was as white as a sheet. His teeth were chattering.
When he saw that the secretary was gone, he tried to walk across to his
private room. But he was seized with an attack of weakness and sank into
a chair, where he remained for some minutes, moaning helplessly:

"What's the matter with me? ... Have I been poisoned, too? ... Oh, I
don't like this; I don't like the look of this!"

The desk stood within reach of his hand. He took a pencil, drew a
writing-pad toward him and began to scribble a few characters. But he
next stammered:

"Why, no, it's not worth while. The Prefect will be reading my
letter.... What on earth's the matter with me. I don't like this at all!"

Suddenly he rose to his feet and called out:

"Monsieur le Secrétaire, we've got ... we've got to ... It's for
to-night. Nothing can prevent--"

Stiffening himself with an effort of his whole will, he made for the door
of the secretary's room with little short steps, like an automaton. But