Affair of the rue du Quatre Septembre At the last moment of going to press, a bloody imprint has been discovered on hand-cart number 2. Monsieur Bertillon immediately identified this imprint; it was made by the hand of Jacques Dollon, the criminal who is already wanted by the police for the murder of the Baroness de Vibray, and the robbery committed on the Princess Sonia Danidoff.

“But I am not mad!” cried Fandor, when he had read these lines. “I declare I am not mad! By all that’s holy, Jacques Dollon is dead!... Fifty persons have seen him dead! But, for all that, Bertillon cannot be mistaken.”

After a minute or two, Fandor took up his pen again and added a note to his article, entitled:

“Sensational development. The police say: ‘It is the late Jacques Dollon who has stolen the millions!’” This note showed clearly that Jérôme Fandor did not believe that Jacques Dollon could possibly be involved in this affair, or in either of the other crimes in connection with which his name had been mentioned.

CHAPTER TWELVE : INVESTIGATIONS

A man jumped quickly out of the Auteuil-Madeleine tram.

It would have been difficult to guess his age, or see his face. He wore a large soft hat – a Brazilian sombrero – whose edges he had turned down. The collar of his overcoat was turned up, so that the lower part of his face was so far buried in it that his features were almost hidden. Then, during the entire journey, seated at the end of the tramcar, he had kept his back turned on the other passengers: he seemed to be absorbed in watching the movements of the driver. At the end of the rue Mozart, where the rues La Fontaine, Poussin, des Perchamps meet, he had left the tram with real satisfaction.

Then, in the silence of the evening, the clock of Auteuil church had slowly struck eight silvery strokes.

The listening man murmured:

“Oh, there’s no hurry after all. I’ve a two good hours’ wait in front of me.”

Leaving the frequented pavements, he plunged into the little by-streets, newly made and not yet named, which join the end of the rue Mozart with the boulevard Montmorency. He walked fast, at the same time taking his bearings.

“Rue Raffet?... If I don’t deceive myself, it lies in this direction!”

He reached the hilly and lonely road bearing that name, which, on both sides of its entire length, is bordered by attractive private residences.

Swiftly, silently, stealthily, this individual approached one of these houses. He glanced through the garden railing, scrutinising the windows which were illuminated.

“Good! Good! Decidedly good!” he said, in a low tone of satisfaction... “But there’s two hours to wait... they are still in the dining-room, if I am to go by the lighted windows.”