“The truth is, my dear fellow, that prison van of yours was not knocked out of action by an unlucky accident – the crash was intentional – was carefully planned! It was done to stop your van from reaching the Auteuil station!...

While your wagon was being repaired, another one appeared at the Autenil clearing station! This, if you please, had been stolen! It was standing outside the Palais de Justice. Two accomplices took possession of it and drove away. The daring rascals were suitably disguised, of course! They produced false papers at Auteuil, got them endorsed, went through the regular forms, and carried off the men from the detention cells, under the very nose and eyes of the superintendent himself.”

“What became of the stolen van?” snapped Fandor.

“It was found at dawn near the fortifications, and, need I say – empty!”

“So that blasted Jules has escaped?”

“As you say!”

“And the car which intentionally knocked my meat wagon out of action – whose was it?”

Monsieur Fuselier smiled.

“Oh, it’s a queer affair; in fact, it may lead to the wind up of all the Dollon business – we may now get to the bottom of that series of crimes! You will never guess who is the owner of that car, Fandor?”

“No, I am no good at guessing riddles just now...

besides, I hate them!” Fandor was nettled, exasperated.

“We got the number of the car from a witness of the smash-up; and we have verified its authenticity. Well, my dear fellow, the owner of that car is – Thomery!”

“Thomery!” gasped Fandor.

“Yes. I have summoned him to appear before me –

the summons has just been issued. Between you and me, I think Thomery is guilty. When he appears here, in, say an hour from now, I shall issue a writ of arrest against this sugar baron – and who knows what else!”

But, no sooner had Monsieur Fuselier finished his statement – a statement which he fully expected would strike his young reporter friend dumb with amazement – than Fandor threw himself back in his chair and roared with laughter. The magistrate was taken aback!

“But... what the devil do you find to laugh at in that?” Fandor had already checked his hilarity.

“Oh, it’s nothing! Only, Fuselier, I ask myself, if really and truly, Monsieur Thomery, who is a very big fellow, solidly built, has been able to discover a dodge, by means of which he can leave Jacques Dollon’s imprints here, there, and everywhere...”

“But he does not leave Jacques Dollon’s imprints, because Dollon is living, because he came to see his sister – why you admitted that yourself!”

“Why of course! It’s true!... Jacques Dollon is alive... I had forgotten... Thomery can only be his accomplice then!” declared Fandor. And as Monsieur Fuselier stared at him, astonished at the way he had received the sensational news of the night, Fandor rose to take his leave. “My dear Fuselier, will you allow me to express my opinion?”