“Of course it is. When the rascal saw me this morning, he scampered off like a hare. You should have seen him run; I thought he would never stop this side of Ivry: but not at all. On reaching the Boulevard des Ecoles, a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he made a bee-line for his hotel; I suppose, to get his pile of money. Directly he gets here, what does he see? these three friends of mine. The sight of these gentlemen had the effect of a sunstroke upon him; he went raving mad on the spot. The idea of serving me such a low trick at the very moment I was sure of success!”
“Where is he now?”
“At the prefecture, I suppose. Some policemen handcuffed him, and drove off with him in a cab.”
“Come with me.”
M. Verduret and Fanferlot found Clameran in one of the private cells reserved for dangerous prisoners.
He had on a strait-jacket, and was struggling violently against three men, who were striving to hold him, while a physician tried to force him to swallow a potion.
“Help!” he shrieked; “help, for God’s sake! Do you not see my brother coming after me? Look! he wants to poison me!”
M. Verduret took the physician aside, and questioned him about the maniac.
“The wretched man is in a hopeless state,” replied the doctor; “this species of insanity is incurable. He thinks someone is trying to poison him, and nothing will persuade him to eat or drink anything; and, as it is impossible to force anything down his throat, he will die of starvation, after having suffered all the tortures of poison.”
M. Verduret, with a shudder, turned to leave the prefecture, saying to Fanferlot: