The Gray Wolf carefully adjusts the climbers on his feet and descends the spire.
Tictocq takes out his notebook and writes in it.
“At last,” he says, “I have a clue.”
Monsieur le Compte Carnaignole Cusheau, once known as the Gray Wolf, stands in the magnificent drawing-room of his palace on East 47th Street.
Three days after his confession to Tictocq, he happened to look in the pockets of a discarded pair of pants and found twenty million francs in gold.
Suddenly the door opens and Tictocq, the detective, with a dozen gensd’arme, enters the room.
“You are my prisoner,” says the detective.
“On what charge?”
“The murder of Marie Cusheau on the night of August 17th.”