The concierge obediently took down a coat from a hook and handed it to Juve who searched it quickly, looked it all over and then found a label sewn on the inside of the collar: it bore the one word _Pretoria_. "Good!" said he, in an undertone; "I thought as much." Then he looked at the buttons; these were stamped on the under side with the name _Smith_. The gendarme understood what the detective was about, and he too examined the clothes in the first trunk which he had just opened. "There is nothing to show where these things came from, sir," he remarked. "The name of the maker is not on them." "That's all right," said Juve. "Open the other trunk." While the gendarme was busy forcing this second lock Juve went for a moment into the kitchen and came back holding a rather heavy copper mallet with an iron handle, which he had found there. He was looking at this mallet with some curiosity, balancing and weighing it in his hands, when a sudden exclamation of fright from the gendarme drew his eyes to the trunk, the lid of which had just been thrown back. Juve did not lose all his professional impassivity, but even he leaped forward like a flash, swept the gendarme to one side, and dropped on his knees beside the open box. A horrid spectacle met his eyes. For the trunk contained a corpse! The moment Mme. Doulenques caught sight of the ghastly thing, she fell back into a chair half fainting, and there she remained, unable to move, with her body hunched forward, and haggard eyes fixed upon the corpse, of which she caught occasional glimpses as the movements of Juve and the gendarme every now and then left the shocking thing within the trunk exposed to her view. Yet there was nothing especially gruesome or repellent about the corpse. It was the body of a man of about fifty years of age, with a pronounced brick-red complexion, and a lofty brow, the height of which was increased by premature baldness. Long, fair moustaches drooped from the upper lip almost to the top of the chest. The unfortunate creature was doubled up in the trunk, with knees bent and head forced down by the weight of the lid. The body was dressed with a certain fastidiousness, and it was obviously that of a man of fashion and distinction; there was no wound to be seen. The calm, quiet face suggested that the victim had been taken by surprise while in the full vigour of life and killed suddenly, and had not been subjected to the anguish of a fight for life or to any slow agony. Juve half turned to the concierge. "When did you see M. Gurn last? Exactly, please: it is important." Mme. Doulenques babbled something unintelligible and then, as the detective pressed her, made an effort to collect her scattered wits. "Three weeks ago at least, sir: yes, three weeks exactly; no one has been here since, I will swear." Juve made a sign to the gendarme, who understood, and felt the body carefully.