The Teeth of the Tiger Part 59

And suddenly they all sprang up, with one movement, and the same expression of surprise.

A bell had rung.

They at once heard where the sound came from.

"The telephone," M. Desmalions muttered.

He took down the receiver.

"Hullo! Who are you?"

A voice answered, but so distant and so faint that he could only catch an incoherent noise and exclaimed:

"Speak louder! What is it? Who are you?"

The voice spluttered out a few syllables that seemed to astound him.

"Hullo!" he said. "I don't understand. Please repeat what you said. Who is it speaking?"

"Don Luis Perenna," was the answer, more distinctly this time.

The Prefect made as though to hang up the receiver; and he growled:

"It's a hoax. Some rotter amusing himself at our expense."

Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he went on in a gruff voice:

"Look here, what is it? You say you're Don Luis Perenna?"

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"What's the time?"

"What's the time!"

The Prefect made an angry gesture, not so much because of the ridiculous question as because he had really recognized Don Luis's voice beyond mistake.

"Well?" he said, controlling himself. "What's all this about?

Where are you?"

"At my house, above the iron curtain, in the ceiling of my study."

"In the ceiling!" repeated the Prefect, not knowing what to think.

"Yes; and more or less done for, I confess."

"We'll send and help you out," said M. Desmalions, who was beginning to enjoy himself.

"Later on, Monsieur le Prefet. First answer me. Quickly! If not, I don't know that I shall have the strength. What's the time?"

"Oh, look here!"

"I beg of you--"

"It's twenty minutes to three."

"Twenty minutes to three!"

It was as though Don Luis found renewed strength in a sudden fit of fear.

His weak voice recovered its emphasis, and, by turns imperious, despairing, and beseeching, full of a conviction which he did his utmost to impart to M. Desmalions, he said:

"Go away, Monsieur le Prefet! Go, all of you; leave the house. The house will be blown up at three o'clock. Yes, yes, I swear it will. Ten days after the fourth letter means now, because there has been a ten days'

delay in the delivery of the letters. It means now, at three o'clock in the morning. Remember what was written on the sheet which Deputy Chief Weber handed you this morning: 'The explosion is independent of the letters. It will take place at three o'clock in the morning.' At three o'clock in the morning, to-day, Monsieur le Prefet!" The voice faltered and then continued:

"Go away, please. Let no one remain in the house. You must believe me. I know everything about the business. And nothing can prevent the threat from being executed. Go, go, go! This is horrible; I feel that you do not believe me--and I have no strength left. Go away, every one of you!"

He said a few more words which M. Desmalions could not make out. Then the voice ceased; and, though the Prefect still heard cries, it seemed to him that those cries were distant, as though the instrument were no longer within the reach of the mouth that uttered them.

He hung up the receiver.

"Gentlemen," he said, with a smile, "it is seventeen to three. In seventeen minutes we shall all be blown up together. At least, that is what our good friend Don Luis Perenna declares."

In spite of the jokes with which this threat was met, there was a general feeling of uneasiness. Weber asked:

"Was it really Don Luis, Monsieur le Prefet?"

"Don Luis in person. He has gone to earth in some hiding-hole in his house, above the study; and his fatigue and privations seem to have unsettled him a little. Mazeroux, go and ferret him out--unless this is just some fresh trick on his part. You have your warrant."

Sergeant Mazeroux went up to M. Desmalions. His face was pallid.

"Monsieur le Prefet, did _he_ tell you that we were going to be blown up?"

"He did. He relies on the note which M. Weber found in a volume of Shakespeare. The explosion is to take place to-night."

"At three o'clock in the morning?"

"At three o'clock in the morning--that is to say, in less than a quarter of an hour."

"And do you propose to remain, Monsieur le Prefet?"

"What next, Sergeant? Do you imagine that we are going to obey that gentleman's fancies?"

Mazeroux staggered, hesitated, and then, despite all his natural deference, unable to contain himself, exclaimed:

"Monsieur le Prefet, it's not a fancy. I have worked with Don Luis. I know the man. If he tells you that something is going to happen, it's because he has his reasons."