"Yes, I'm going to see the chief," he repeated, "besides, I shan't be gone long. Anything that 'he' asks for let him have, you understand?"

It was about five-thirty, and the sky threatened snow. The air was fresh and not too cold. A few milk carts were the only vehicles in the streets. Porters were busy brushing off the sidewalks. Paris was making her toilette. Sergeant Ma.s.son stopped at a small house in a quiet street and mounted to the third floor. There he hesitated. The wife of the chief was known for her sharp temper. However, there was nothing to be done but ring, and this he did in a timid manner.

In a few moments he heard the door-chain withdrawn, and a woman's voice cried:

"Who is there?"

"It is I, Madame, Sergeant Ma.s.son."

"Well, what do you want?"

"The chief is wanted at the Station right away."

At these words the door opened wide and the woman stood revealed. She was about forty, dressed in her wrapper and with her hair still in curl papers.

"Louis must go to the Station?" she demanded.

"Yes, Madame, an arrest has been made ..."

"He must go to the Station?" she repeated in a menacing tone.

Sergeant Ma.s.son retreated to the landing. He simply nodded his head.

"But he _is_ there! He told me he was! Ah, I see how it is!... He's been lying again. He's been running after women ... all right, he'll pay for it when he gets home!"

The door shut with a bang and the lady disappeared.

"What an idiot I've been," muttered the discomfited sergeant. "I ought to have known better. Of course he's not with his wife, he's with his mistress!"

Several minutes later he reached another apartment in a neighboring street.

This time he had no misgivings and congratulated himself upon his professional cleverness in tracking his man down.

The same performance was gone through. A ring at the bell brought an answer to the door.

"Who is there?" said a man's voice.

"It is I ... Sergeant Ma.s.son."

The door was opened and a young man stood in the hall. He was about thirty and wore an undershirt and drawers.

"Well, Sergeant!"

The sergeant shrank back; he would have been glad if he could have disappeared in the walls. The chief's secretary stood before him.

"I was ... was looking ..." he stammered.

The secretary interrupted with a smile.

"No, he's not here. In fact, we are rarely found together."

Then putting a hand on the sergeant's shoulder:

"As gentleman to gentleman, I count on your discretion."

The door shut softly and the sergeant turned sadly and went back to the Station, pondering over the personal annoyance this general post at night occasioned him.

He was greeted on his return by a few sharp words.

"Ah, there you are, Ma.s.son!... At last!... An event of the first importance occurs, an amazing scandal breaks out and you desert your post.... It's always the way if I'm not here to look after things. I shall have to report you, you know. Where have you been?"

The speaker was a man still quite young, who wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. It was the chief himself. On the way home from some late party he had dropped into the Station out of simple curiosity.

Was he awake or was he dreaming?

Fandor felt stiff all over, his head was heavy and his mind a blank....

And then came a thirst, a devouring, insatiable thirst.

Where he was and how he had arrived there were things past his comprehension.

So far as the feeble light permitted, he made out the room to contain the furnishings of an office, and by degrees, as his mind cleared, he recalled with a start his arrest.

He was at the police station.

But why in this particular room? The walls were hung with sporting prints. Bookshelves, a comfortable sofa, upon which he had spent the night, all these indicated nothing less than the private office of the chief.

And then he recalled with what consideration he had been conducted hither. Evidently they took him for an intimate friend of the King.

Nevertheless, he was under arrest for murder, or at least as an accomplice to a murder.

"After all," he thought, "the truth will come to light, they'll capture the murderer and my innocence will be established.

"Besides, didn't the King promise to see me through. Probably before this he has already taken steps for my release."

He then decided to call out:

"Is there anyone here?"

Scarcely had Fandor spoken when a man entered, who, after a profound bow to the journalist, drew the curtains apart.

"You are awake, Monsieur?"

Fandor was amazed. What charming manners the police had!

"Oh, yes, I'm awake, but I feel stiff all over."

"That is easily understood, and I hope you will pardon ... You see, I didn't happen to be at the station ... and when I got here ... why, I didn't like to wake you."