Jim Frobisher stood up. He pointed a shaking finger at the grotesque image of pain crumpled upon the floor, death without dignity, an argument that there was something horribly wrong with the making of the human race—since such things could be.
"Jean Cladel?" he asked.
"We must make sure," answered Hanaud. He went down the stairs to the front door and, unbolting it, called Moreau within the house. From the top of the stairs Jim heard him ask:
"Do you know Jean Cladel by sight?"
"Yes," answered Moreau.
"Then follow me."
Hanaud led him up into the back room. For a moment Moreau stopped upon the threshold with a blank look upon his face.
"Is that the man?" Hanaud asked.
Moreau stepped forward.
"Yes."