The lieutenant made a sign to the sergeant in charge.
"Go for the medical officer."
Some minutes passed in a silence that hummed with questions.
A young assistant surgeon appeared.
"Kindly explain what is wrong, Monsieur!" commanded Dumoulin.
The surgeon spoke.
"My commandant sent for me, about an hour ago. I was to attend to a prisoner who had fainted. This man, when crossing the rue du Cherche-Midi, had suddenly lost consciousness. His warders could not revive him. They carried him to his cell. They laid him on his palliasse. When I arrived the man was dead."
"Dead of what?" demanded Dumoulin.
"A bullet in his heart," replied the surgeon.... "I ascertained this when undressing him. The bullet will be found at the post-mortem: it has probably lodged in the vertebral column."
Dumoulin rose: paced the floor: he was greatly agitated.