"I am the supposed deceased," laughed Rex, with a little bow.

"But how am I to know?" said the officer.

"Why, here I am."

"But," said the man, suspiciously, "I want to know how I am to
know?"

"Nonsense," said Elliott, laughing.

"But, Monsieur," expostulated the officer, politely.

"This is Reginald Gethryn, artist, I tell you!"

The policeman shrugged his shoulders. He was noncommittal and very
polite.

"Messieurs," he said, "my orders are to lock up this room."

"But it's my room, I can't spare my room," laughed Gethryn. "From
whom did you take your orders?"

"From Monsieur the Prefect of the Seine."

"Oh, it is all right, then," said Gethryn. "Take a seat."

He went to his desk, wrote a hasty note, and then called the man.
"Read that, if you please, Monsieur Sergeant de Ville."