They took a taxi and, leaving the Luxembourg behind on the left, quickly ran the mile or so to the Boulevard Arago. M. Lachaise received them at once and they stated their melancholy business, showing the photograph of the body. The avocat took it to the light and examined it earnestly. Then he returned it with a gesture of relief.
‘Thank God,’ he said at length, ‘it’s not she.’
‘The body was clothed in a light pink evening dress, with several diamond rings on the fingers and a diamond comb in the hair.’
‘It is not she at all. My wife had no pink dress, nor did she wear a diamond comb. Besides, she left here in an out-of-door walking dress and all her evening things were in her wardrobe.’
‘It is conclusive,’ said M. Lefarge, and with thanks and compliments they took their leave.
‘I thought that would be no good,’ said Lefarge, ‘but we must do what the Chief says.’
‘Of course. Besides, you never know. Look here, old man,’ he added, ‘I am tired after all. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll get away to the hotel.’
‘But, of course. Whatever you feel like. Let’s stroll to the end of the Boulevard. We can get the Metro across the street at the Avenue d’Orléans.’
They changed at Châtelet and, having arranged to meet next morning, the Inspector took the Maillot train for Concorde, while Lefarge went in the opposite direction to his home near the Place de la Bastille.