"And this is—ah! I remember—this is——"
"Inspector Loup."
The fishy eyes of Monsieur l'Inspecteur had been swimming about in their fringed pools, taking in every detail of the chamber. They penetrated the remotest corners, plunged at the curtains of the bed, and finally rested for a wee little moment upon the two cups and saucers, the two empty glasses, the two spoons, which still remained on the table. And yet had not Inspector Loup called attention to the fact one would never have suspected that he had seen anything.
"Pardon, Monsieur Marot," he said, half behind his hand, "but I am not disturbing any quiet little—er——"
"Not yet, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," replied the young man, suggestively. "Go on, I beg."
"Ah! not yet? Good! Very well,—then I will try not to do so."
Whereupon Monsieur l'Inspecteur dived down into a deep pocket and brought up a package neatly wrapped in pink paper and sealed with a red seal.
The package bore the address of "M. Jean Marot."
"May I ask if Monsieur Marot can divine the contents of this parcel?"
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur will pardon me,—I'm not good at guessing."