"Excuse me, young gentlemen," observed the official, somewhat stiffly, but with a polite inclination of his lank body, "but I must be permitted to make an examination here—yes, I know; but Monsieur le Commissaire is rather—rather—you know—they will wait until I see for myself where the error is. Yes, error, I'm sure."
During this introduction the keen little fishy eyes searched the table, the floor, the walls, the cot in the corner whereon Massard now sat seriously erect, and, incidentally, every person in the room. They wound up this lightning tour of inspection by resting with the last equivocal sentence upon some object on the floor under the table.
"Pardon me," he added, stepping briskly forward and grasping the lamp.
He brought the light to bear upon the object which had appeared to fascinate him, the wondering eyes of the three students becoming riveted to the same spot.
It was a wisp of light flaxen hair just tinted with gold.
The inspector replaced the lamp upon the dissecting-table and examined the lock of hair. It was still moist, and there were distinct traces of blood where it had been cut off from the head.
"Ah!"
The world of satisfaction in that ejaculation was not communicated to the students, who were speechless with astonishment.
"Yes," said the inspector, as if he were continuing an unimportant conversation, "Monsieur le Commissaire is rather—rather—show me the rest of the place, please," and without waiting for formal permission proceeded, lamp in hand, on his own account.
"So! One sleeps here?"