The Commissioner of Police was thoughtful for a moment.
"It shall be as monsieur desires," he consented gravely, "bearing in mind what monsieur has said," he added with emphasis.
The three men left the room and passed down the corridor. The gendarme in front of the closed door stood on one side. The Commissioner produced a key. They all three entered the room and Monsieur Picard closed the door behind them. Underneath a sheet upon the bed was stretched the figure of a man. Hunterleys stepped up to it, turned down the sheet and examined the prostrate figure. Then he replaced the covering reverently.
"Yes," he said, "that is the man who has called upon me for orders from the English tailors. His name, I believe, was, as you say, Allen. But can you tell me, Monsieur the Commissioner, how it was possible for a man to stab himself from the shoulder downwards through the heart?"
The Official extended his hands.
"Monsieur," he declared, "it is not for us. The doctor has given his certificate."
Hunterleys smiled a little grimly.
"I have always understood," he observed, "that things were managed like this. You may have confidence in me, Monsieur the Commissioner, and you, Monsieur Picard. I shall not tell the world what I suspect. But for your private information I will tell you that this man was probably murdered by an assassin who sought my life. You observe that there is a certain resemblance."
The hotel proprietor turned pale.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed. "Impossible! A murder here—unheard of!"