"Jamais de la vie," said Roux, his eyes flashing with indignation, and banging his fist on the table with such force that the contents of the inkpot were spilled. "I regret, my dear doctor," he added in a calmer voice, "I cannot oblige you, for I am determined that this unmitigated scoundrel shall be brought to justice, and I shall prepare my report at once and hand it without delay to the Commissaire de Police." "And I mean to back you up, Roux," said Paul. "I swear I will not rest until this fiend is run to earth." Paul shook hands with Villebois and Riche, and taking Roux by the arm, the two left the house without another word. "Riche," said Villebois the moment they were alone, "this is a terrible business. I'm afraid it's all up with Pierre." "Well, for my part, I hate the brute, and the sooner he gets his deserts the better. I should be only too happy to act the part of 'Monsieur de Paris' myself, and would not shed a tear when I saw his head fall into the basket." Villebois heaved a sigh, and wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "Perhaps they are right after all," he said to himself, "but then there is the old General to consider. It will kill him surely enough if his son is arrested on a charge of deliberate murder." "Riche," he called out as a sudden idea struck him, "my nerves are so unstrung I feel I need a drop of cognac; will you share a liqueur with me?" and without waiting for a reply he rang the bell. "François," he said as the butler appeared, "bring a bottle of old liqueur brandy. No, you don't know where that special brand is, I will go." So saying, he followed François, closing the door behind him. "François," he added in a hoarse whisper, "not a word, not a word of what I do, do you hear me?" The butler nodded and touched his forehead. "Now go and fetch the brandy. Stop, wait a minute." Villebois took an old 'petit bleu' from his pocket, gummed it down and handed it to François. "Hand me this when you bring the cognac, and tell me it has just arrived." François saluted and vanished, while Villebois returned to the library. Presently François arrived with a tray of glasses and the liqueur, and handed him the telegram. "Why did you not bring me this before?" asked Villebois. "It has only just arrived, sir," replied François, like a school-boy repeating a lesson. Villebois hastily opened it, and glancing at the contents put it into his pocket. "Excuse me, Riche," he said, swallowing a petit verre of the liqueur, "but I have an important appointment to keep. Pray amuse yourself until I return. You will find the last number of _La Vie Parisienne_ on my table." Villebois left the room and hurried to the telephone. "Is Monsieur Pierre at home?" "No, sir," came the reply, "he has gone to his club in the Avenue de l'Opera. He left half an hour ago." "H'm," said Villebois, "this is very awkward."