What was that fact? What had he seen? What frightful secret had
been revealed to him? There was no answer to these questions.
But, at the last moment, an incident occurred that appeared to us
of considerable importance. As two policemen were raising the body
to place it on a stretcher, the left hand thus being disturbed, a
crumpled card fell from it. The card bore these words: "Georges
Andermatt, 37 Rue de Berry."
What did that mean? Georges Andermatt was a rich banker in Paris,
the founder and president of the Metal Exchange which had given
such an impulse to the metallic industries in France. He lived in
princely style; was the possessor of numerous automobiles, coaches,
and an expensive racing-stable. His social affairs were very
select, and Madame Andermatt was noted for her grace and beauty.
"Can that be the man's name?" I asked.
---------------
The chief of the Surete leaned over him.
"It is not he. Mon. Andermatt is a thin man, and slightly grey."
"But why this card?"
"Have you a telephone, monsieur?"
"Yes, in the vestibule. Come with me."
He looked in the directory, and then asked for number 415.21.
"Is Mon.
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