The Teeth of the Tiger Maurice Leblanc (best novels of all time .txt) 📖

the Foreign Legion. As for Weber, he put his two hands in his pockets, walked past with the look of a muzzled mastiff, and gave his enemy a glance of fierce hatred.

“By Jupiter!” thought Don Luis. “There’s a fellow who won’t miss me when he gets the chance to shoot!”

Looking through a window, he saw M. Desmalions’s motor car drive off. The detectives fell in behind the deputy chief and left the Place du Palais-Bourbon. The siege was raised.

“And now to work!” said Don Luis. “My hands are free, and we shall make things hum.”

He called the butler.

“Serve lunch; and ask Mlle. Levasseur to come and speak to me immediately after.”

He went to the dining-room and sat down, placing on the table the photograph which M. Desmalions had left behind; and, bending over it, he examined it attentively. It was a little faded, a little worn, as photographs have a tendency to become when they lie about in pocketbooks or among papers; but the picture was quite clear. It was the radiant picture of a young woman in evening dress, with bare arms and shoulders, with flowers and leaves in her hair and a smile upon her face.

“Mlle. Levasseur, Mlle. Levasseur,” he said. “Is it possible!”

In a corner was a half-obliterated and hardly visible signature. He made out, “Florence,” the girl’s name, no doubt. And he repeated:

“Mlle. Levasseur, Florence Levasseur. How did her photograph come to be in Inspector Vérot’s pocketbook? And what is the connection between this adventure and the reader of the Hungarian count from whom I took over the house?”

He remembered the incident of the iron curtain. He remembered the article in the Echo de France, an article aimed against him, of which he had found the rough draft in his own courtyard. And, above all, he thought of the problem of that broken walking-stick conveyed into his study.

And, while his mind was striving to read these events clearly, while he tried to settle the part played by Mlle. Levasseur, his eyes remained fixed upon the photograph and he gazed absentmindedly at the pretty lines of the mouth, the charming smile, the graceful curve of the neck, the admirable sweep of the shoulders.

The door opened suddenly and Mlle. Levasseur burst into the room. Perenna, who had dismissed the butler, was raising to his lips a glass of water which he had just filled for himself. She sprang forward, seized his arm, snatched the glass from him and flung it on the carpet, where it smashed to pieces.

“Have you drunk any of it? Have you drunk any of it?” she gasped, in a choking voice.

He replied:

“No, not yet. Why?”

She stammered:

“The water in that bottle⁠ ⁠… the water in that bottle⁠—”

“Well?”

“It’s poisoned!”

He leapt from his chair and, in his turn, gripped her arm fiercely:

“What’s that? Poisoned! Are you certain? Speak!”

In spite of his usual self-control, he was this time thoroughly alarmed. Knowing the terrible effects of the poison employed by the miscreants whom he was attacking, recalling the corpse of Inspector Vérot, the corpses of Hippolyte Fauville and his son, he knew that, trained though he was to resist comparatively large doses of poison, he could not have escaped the deadly action of this. It was a poison that did not forgive, that killed, surely and fatally.

The girl was silent. He raised his voice in command:

“Answer me! Are you certain?”

“No⁠ ⁠… it was an idea that entered my head⁠—a presentiment⁠ ⁠… certain coincidences⁠—”

It was as though she regretted her words and now tried to withdraw them.

“Come, come,” he cried, “I want to know the truth: You’re not certain that the water in this bottle is poisoned?”

“No⁠ ⁠… it’s possible⁠—”

“Still, just now⁠—”

“I thought so. But no⁠ ⁠… no!”

“It’s easy to make sure,” said Perenna, putting out his hand for the water bottle.

She was quicker than he, seized it and, with one blow, broke it against the table.

“What are you doing?” he said angrily.

“I made a mistake. And so there is no need to attach any importance⁠—”

Don Luis hurriedly left the dining-room. By his orders, the water which he drank was drawn from a filter that stood in a pantry at the end of the passage leading from the dining-room to the kitchens and beyond. He ran to it and took from a shelf a bowl which he filled with water from the filter. Then, continuing to follow the passage, which at this spot branched off toward the yard, he called Mirza, the puppy, who was playing by the stables.

“Here,” he said, putting the bowl in front of her.

The puppy began to drink. But she stopped almost at once and stood motionless, with her paws tense and stiff. A shiver passed through the little body. The dog gave a hoarse groan, spun round two or three times, and fell.

“She’s dead,” he said, after touching the animal.

Mlle. Levasseur had joined him. He turned to her and rapped out:

“You were right about the poison⁠—and you knew it. How did you know it?”

All out of breath, she checked the beating of her heart and answered:

“I saw the other puppy drinking in the pantry. She’s dead. I told the coachman and the chauffeur. They’re over there, in the stable. And I ran to warn you.”

“In that case, there was no doubt about it. Why did you say that you were not certain that the water was poisoned, when⁠—”

The chauffeur and the coachman were coming out of the stables. Leading the girl away, Perenna said:

“We must talk about this. We’ll go to your rooms.”

They went back to the bend in the passage. Near the pantry where the filter was, another passage ran, ending in a flight of three steps, with a door at the top of the steps. Perenna opened this door. It was the entrance to the rooms occupied by Mlle. Levasseur. They went into a sitting-room.

Don Luis closed the entrance door and the door of the sitting-room.

“And now,” he said, in a resolute tone, “you and I will have an explanation.”

VII Shakespeare’s Works, Volume VIII

Two lodges, belonging