l power of speech or movement. Father and
son were dead! They had been killed during that night! A few hours
earlier, though the house was watched and every outlet hermetically
closed, both had been poisoned by an infernal puncture, even as Inspector
Verot was poisoned, even as Cosmo Mornington was poisoned.

"Dash it all!" said Mazeroux once more. "It was not worth troubling about
the poor devils and performing such miracles to save them!"

The exclamation conveyed a reproach. Perenna grasped it and admitted:

"You are right, Mazeroux; I was not equal to the job."

"Nor I, Chief."

"You ... you have only been in this business since yesterday evening--"

"Well, so have you, Chief!"

"Yes, I know, since yesterday evening, whereas the others have been
working at it for weeks and weeks. But, all the same, these two are dead;
and I was there, I, Lupin, was there! The thing has been done under my
eyes; and I saw nothing! I saw nothing! How is it possible?"

He uncovered the poor boy's shoulders, showing the mark of a puncture at
the top of the arm.

"The same mark--the same mark obviously that we shall find on the
father.... The lad does not seem to have suffered, either.... Poor little
chap! He did not look very strong.... Never mind, it's a nice face; what
a terrible blow for his mother when she learns!"

The detective sergeant wept with anger and pity, while he kept on
mumbling:

"Dash it all!... Dash it all!"

"We shall avenge them, eh, Mazeroux?"

"Rather, Chief! Twice over!"

"Once will do, Mazeroux. But it shall be done with a will."

"That I swear it shall!"

"You're right; let's swear. Let us swear that this dead pair shall be
avenged. Let us swear not to lay down our arms until the murderers of
Hippolyte Fauville and his son are punished as they deserve."

"I swear it as I hope to be saved, Chief."

"Good!" said Perenna. "And now to work. You go and telephone at once to
the police office. I am sure that M. Desmalions will approve of your
informing him without delay. He takes an immense interest in the case."

"And if the servants come? If Mme. Fauville--?"

"No one will come till we open the doors; and we shan't open them except
to the Prefect of Police. It will be for him, afterward, to tell Mme.
Fauville that she is a widow and that she has no son. Go! Hurry!"

"One moment, Chief; we are forgetting something that will help us
enormously."

"What's that?"

"The little drab-cloth diary