The Teeth of the Tiger | Page 2

They're watching me. They're trying to get rid of me. I
shan't be easy in my mind until some one besides myself knows the
secret."
"Have no fear, Vérot. Monsieur le Préfet is bound to be back soon.
Meanwhile, I advise you to go to the infirmary and ask for a
pick-me-up."
The inspector seemed undecided what to do. Once more he wiped away
the perspiration that was trickling down his forehead. Then, drawing
himself up, he left the office. When he was gone the secretary slipped
the letter into a big bundle of papers that lay on the Prefect's desk and
went out by the door leading to his own room.
He had hardly closed it behind him when the other door opened once
again and the inspector returned, spluttering:
"Monsieur le Secrétaire ... it'd be better if I showed you--"
The unfortunate man was as white as a sheet. His teeth were chattering.
When he saw that the secretary was gone, he tried to walk across to his
private room. But he was seized with an attack of weakness and sank
into a chair, where he remained for some minutes, moaning helplessly:
"What's the matter with me? ... Have I been poisoned, too? ... Oh, I
don't like this; I don't like the look of this!"
The desk stood within reach of his hand. He took a pencil, drew a
writing-pad toward him and began to scribble a few characters. But he
next stammered:
"Why, no, it's not worth while. The Prefect will be reading my letter....
What on earth's the matter with me. I don't like this at all!"
Suddenly he rose to his feet and called out:
"Monsieur le Secrétaire, we've got ... we've got to ... It's for to-night.

Nothing can prevent--"
Stiffening himself with an effort of his whole will, he made for the door
of the secretary's room with little short steps, like an automaton. But he
reeled on the way--and had to sit down a second time.
A mad terror shook him from head to foot; and he uttered cries which
were too faint, unfortunately, to be heard. He realized this and looked
round for a bell, for a gong; but he was no longer able to distinguish
anything. A veil of darkness seemed to weigh upon his eyes.
Then he dropped on his knees and crawled to the wall, beating the air
with one hand, like a blind man, until he ended by touching some
woodwork. It was the partition-wall.
He crept along this; but, as ill-luck would have it, his bewildered brain
showed him a false picture of the room, so that, instead of turning to
the left as he should have done, he followed the wall to the right,
behind a screen which concealed a third door.
His fingers touched the handle of this door and he managed to open it.
He gasped, "Help! Help!" and fell at his full length in a sort of
cupboard or closet which the Prefect of Police used as a dressing-room.
"To-night!" he moaned, believing that he was making himself heard
and that he was in the secretary's room. "To-night! The job is fixed for
to-night! You'll see ... The mark of the teeth! ... It's awful! ... Oh, the
pain I'm in! ... It's the poison! Save me! Help!"
The voice died away. He repeated several times, as though in a
nightmare:
"The teeth! the teeth! They're closing!"
Then his voice grew fainter still; and inarticulate sounds issued from
his pallid lips. His mouth munched the air like the mouth of one of
those old men who seem to be interminably chewing the cud. His head
sank lower and lower on his breast. He heaved two or three sighs; a

great shiver passed through his body; and he moved no more.
And the death-rattle began in his throat, very softly and rhythmically,
broken only by interruptions in which a last instinctive effort appeared
to revive the flickering life of the intelligence, and to rouse fitful
gleams of consciousness in the dimmed eyes.
The Prefect of Police entered his office at ten minutes to five. M.
Desmalions, who had filled his post for the past three years with an
authority that made him generally respected, was a heavily built man of
fifty with a shrewd and intelligent face. His dress, consisting of a gray
jacket-suit, white spats, and a loosely flowing tie, in no way suggested
the public official. His manners were easy, simple, and full of
good-natured frankness.
He touched a bell, and when his secretary entered, asked:
"Are the people whom I sent for here?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, and I gave orders that they were to wait in
different rooms."
"Oh, it would not have mattered if they had met! However, perhaps