His clothes, not unlike
those of a railway porter, were torn to fragments, and soiled with dust
and wine and blood. This certainly was the murderer. The expression on
his face was terrible. A mad fury blazed in his eyes, and a convulsive
sneer distorted his features. On his neck and cheek were two wounds
which bled profusely. In his right hand, covered with a handkerchief, he
held a pistol, which he aimed at the intruders.
"Surrender!" cried Gevrol.
The man's lips moved, but in spite of a visible effort he could not
articulate a syllable.
"Don't do any mischief," continued the inspector, "we are in force, you
can not escape; so lay down your arms."
"I am innocent," exclaimed the man, in a hoarse, strained voice.
"Naturally, but we do not see it."
"I have been attacked; ask that old woman. I defended myself; I have
killed--I had a right to do so; it was in self-defense!"
The gesture with which he enforced these words was so menacing that one
of the agents drew Gevrol violently aside, saying, as he did so; "Take
care, General, take care! The revolver has five barrels, and we have
heard but two shots."
But the inspector was inaccessible to fear; he freed himself from the
grasp of his subordinate and again stepped forward, speaking in a still
calmer tone. "No foolishness, my lad; if your case is a good one, which
is possible, after all, don't spoil it."
A frightful indecision betrayed itself on the young man's features.
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