The sound of that voice, that way of jesting, that schoolboy playfulness allied with that audacity, the quizzing expression of those eyes, and lastly that Christian name of Alexandre, which was not his name at all and which only one person used to give him, years ago. Was it possible?
"The chief!" he stammered. "The chief!"
"Why not?"
"No, no, because—"
"Because what?"
"Because you're dead."
"Well, what about it? D'you think it interferes with my living, being dead?"
And, as the other seemed more and more perplexed, he laid his hand on his shoulder and said:
"Who put you into the police office?"
"The Chief Detective, M. Lenormand."