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Teeth of The Tiger
It was half-past
four; M. Desmalions, the Prefect of Police, was
not yet back at the office. His private
secretary laid on the desk a bundle of letters
and reports which he had annotated for his chief,
rang the bell and said to the messenger who
entered by the main door:
"Monsieur le Préfet has sent for a number of
people to see him at five o'clock. Here are
their names. Show them into separate waiting-rooms,
so that they can't communicate with one another,
and let me have their cards when they come."
The messenger went out. The secretary was
turning toward the small door that led to his
room, when the main door opened once more and
admitted a man who stopped and leaned swaying
over the back of a chair.
"Why, it's you, Vérot!" said the secretary. "But
what's happened? What's the matter?"
Inspector Vérot was a very stout, powerfully
built man, with a big neck and shoulders and a
florid complexion. He had obviously been upset
by some violent excitement, for his face,
streaked with red veins and usually so
apoplectic, seemed almost pale.
"Oh, nothing, Monsieur le Secrétaire!" he said.
"Yes, yes; you're not looking your usual self.
You're gray in the face…. And the way you're
Lupin versus Sherlock Holmes
On the eighth day of last December, Mon.
Gerbois, professor of mathematics at the College
of Versailles, while rummaging in an old
curiosity-shop, unearthed a small mahogany
writing-desk which pleased him very much on
account of the multiplicity of its drawers.
"Just the thing for Suzanne's birthday present,"
thought he. And as he always tried to furnish
some simple pleasures for his daughter,
consistent with his modest income, he enquired
the price, and, after some keen bargaining,
purchased it for sixty-five francs. As he was
giving his address to the shopkeeper, a young
man, dressed with elegance and taste, who had
been exploring the stock of antiques, caught
sight of the writing-desk, and immediately
enquired its price.
"It is sold," replied the shopkeeper.
"Ah! to this gentleman, I presume?"
Monsieur Gerbois bowed, and left the store,
quite proud to be the possessor of an article
which had attracted the attention of a gentleman
of quality. But he had not taken a dozen steps
in the street, when he was overtaken by the
young man who, hat in hand and in a tone of
perfect courtesy, thus addressed him:
"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I am going to ask
you a question that you may deem impertinent. It
is this: Did you have any special object in view
when you bought that writing-desk?"
"No, I came across it by chance and it struck my
"But you do not care for it particularly?"
"Oh! I shall keep it—that is all."
"Because it is an antique, perhaps?"
"No; because it is convenient," declared Mon.
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