"No foolishness, my boy; if your case is a good one, which is possible after all, do not spoil it."
A frightful indecision betrayed itself on the young man's features. He held Gevrol's life at the end of his finger; was he about to press the trigger?
No, he suddenly threw his weapon to the floor, saying:
"Come and take me!"
And turning, he darted into the adjoining room, hoping doubtless to escape by some place of egress known to himself.
Gevrol had expected this movement. He sprang after him with outstretched arms, but the table retarded him.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, " the wretch escapes us!"
But the fate of the fugitive was already decided.
While Gevrol was parleying, one of the policemen—the one who had peered through the window—had made a circuit of the house and had effected an entrance through the back door.
As the murderer was darting out, this man sprang upon him, seized him, and with surprising strength and agility dragged him back.
The murderer tried to resist; in vain. He had lost his strength: he tottered and fell upon the table that had protected him, murmuring, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Lost! It is the Prussians who are coming!"
This simple and decisive manœuvre on the part of the subordinate had won the victory, and must have delighted the inspector.
"Good, my boy," said he, "very good! Ah! you have a talent for your business, and you will do well if ever an opportunity"
