"Look here, monsieur," said Villebois, pointing to a little swollen spot just above the wrist of the left arm. "Do you see that?"
Monsieur Biron looked at it carefully, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Ce n'est rien, monsieur; it is only a mosquito bite."
Villebois examined it with a pocket magnifier, and gently squeezed it. A drop of glistening fluid came out tinged with blood. The commissaire at once became intensely interested. "Lend me the glass," he cried, and impatiently taking it from Villebois, he carefully examined the spot.
"H'm," he muttered, "the puncture is certainly too large for an insect to make. Can you account for it, doctor?" he said, relinquishing for the first time his authoritative tone.
"I can, but Dr. Riche whom you saw just now can tell you more about it than I can. It was Dr. Riche who told me that he had heard someone moving about the room, and when the doctor ran to the door, before he could open it wide enough to see who was inside, it was violently shut in his face and locked. Dr. Riche and myself together managed to force the door, only to find that the rascal had escaped. Riche raced after him, but the fellow was too quick, and before Riche could get near enough to recognise him, he had disappeared in a fiacre."
"Mon Dieu, but why didn't you tell me all this before?" asked M. Biron.
"Monsieur, I could not, as the whole affair has altogether unnerved me. Besides, Dr. Riche was about to tell you, but you stopped him, if you remember, and threatened to arrest him if he spoke."
The little man stamped on the ground with vexation and chagrin.
"Well, well," he replied somewhat mollified, "I trust it is not too late yet; bring him here at once."