He touched the dead man's hand. The flesh had become cold and rigor mortis was beginning to set in.
The reporter saw the little man take from his pocket a sort of rusty silver ribbon and unroll it, and heard him ask Moniche to take hold of one end of it; this ribbon or thread looked to Paul Rodier like brass wire. Bernardet prepared his kodak.
"Above everything else," murmured Bernardet, "let us preserve the expression of those eyes."
"Close the shutters. The darkness will be more complete."
The reporter assisted Moniche in order to hasten the work. The shutters closed, the room was quite dark, and Bernardet began his task. Counting off a few steps, he selected the best place from which to take the picture.
"Be kind enough to light the end of the magnesium wire," he said to the concierge. "Have you any matches?"
"No, M. Bernardet."
The police office indicated by a sign of the head, a match safe which he had noticed on entering the room.
"There are some there."
Bernardet had with one sweeping glance of the eye taken in everything in the room; the fauteuils, scarcely moved from their places; the pictures hanging on the walls; the mirrors; the bookcases; the cabinets, etc.