The tension caught the spectators by the throat, as they stood clustered in the middle of the hall, silent and gasping for breath, shaking with fear at the least sound, obsessed by the infernal image of the murderer. Where was he hiding? Would he show himself? Was he not one of themselves: this one, perhaps . . . or that one? . . .
And all eyes were turned on the gray-haired gentleman in spectacles, an olive-green frock-coat and a maroon-colored neckerchief, who was walking about, with his bent back, on a pair of shaky legs.
At times, one of the waiters accompanying Sergeant Gourel on his search would come running up.
"Any news?" asked M. Lenormand.
"No, sir, we've found nothing."
The manager made two attempts to induce him to relax his orders regarding the doors. The situation was be
