But, when he produced Lupin's card, M. Lenormand gave a start:
"Lupin!"
"Yes, Lupin. The brute's bobbed up again."
"That's all right, that's all right," said M. Lenormand, after a moment's thought.
"That's all right, of course," said Gourel, who loved to add a word of his own to the rare speeches of a superior whose only fault in his eyes was an undue reticence. "That's all right, for at last you will measure your strength with an adversary worthy of you. . . . And Lupin will meet his master. . . . Lupin will cease to exist. . . . Lupin . . ."
"Ferret!" said M. Lenormand, cutting him short.
It was like an order given by a sportsman to his dog. And Gourel ferreted after the manner of a good dog, a lively and intelligent animal, working under his master's eyes. M. Lenormand pointed his stick to a corner, to an easy chair, just as one points to a bush or a tuft of grass, and Gourel beat up the bush or the tuft of grass with conscientious thoroughness.
"Nothing," said the sergeant, when he finished.
"Nothing for you!" grunted M. Lenormand.
"That's what I meant to say. . . . I know that, for you, chief, there are things that talk like human beings, real living witnesses. For all that, here is a murder well and duly added to our score against Master Lupin."