The Inquisitive Butcher of Nice

At 7:10 Martin came clattering up the stairs from the butcher shop three at a time. His knock on M. Beauregard’s door had none of its usual apologetic politeness. He thundered on the panel with both hands. At the same time, he called in a loud voice through the door. “M. Beauregard! Awake! Instantly! Come quickly to the shop! There is a dead man in our display case, lying on the cold cuts!”