Fandor was not convinced. He still felt certain Dollon had died in the Dépôt.

“Well, Elizabeth Dollon can settle the question for us. There must be some physical peculiarity, some mark by which she can identify her brother’s body!” But Fandor was examining the corpse very carefully.

Suddenly he rose from his stooping posture, exclaiming:

“I know who it is!”

“Who?”

“Jules! None other than Madame Bourrat’s servant, Jules!... That is to say, an accomplice whom the bandits we are after wanted to be rid of, lest he might give them away when brought up for cross-examination. That was why they effected his escape: they killed him afterwards, because he had served his purpose, and was now a liability.”

“Your explanation is plausible, Fandor; but how about the truth of it?”

“This proves the truth of it!” cried Fandor, pointing to a scar on the back of the neck of the murdered man: it was the clear mark of where an abscess had been.

“I am certain I noticed a similar mark on the neck of Jules. He sat in front of me the other day, and I particularly noticed this mark. The dead man is Jules. I am certain it is Jules.” Monsieur Havard was silent. Presently he said:

“If it is Jules... it must be admitted that we are no further forward.”

Fandor was about to utter a protest, when there was a knock on the studio door. Startled, the two men looked at each other anxiously.

“It can only be one of the force,” murmured Monsieur Havard, “I told them I was coming here with you, and that they were to send for me if necessary.” The two men walked to the door. Monsieur Havard opened it. There stood a cyclist member of the police force.

He saluted respectfully, and told his chief that he had come with a message from Michel.

“The message? That the arrest is successful, chief.”

“Which?

“That of the band of Numbers, chief.”

“Good! Whom have you bagged?”

“Almost the whole lot, chief.”

“That is to say?”

“Mother Toulouche, Beard, Mimile, also known as Emilet, and the Cooper – and a few more whose names are not yet known.”

Fandor said, laughing:

“Not Cranajour, I am certain.”

“No. Cranajour has escaped,” answered the policeman.

Turning to Monsieur Havard, he asked:

“You have no instructions, chief?

“No. Tell me, how did the capture go?”

“Perfectly, chief. They were assembled in Mother Toulouche’s store. They went like lambs.”

“Good!... Good!”

Monsieur Havard gave the policeman some orders.

The cyclist leaped into the saddle and disappeared.

“How did you guess that Cranajour was still at liberty?” asked Monsieur Havard.

Fandor smiled.

“Common sense! You take me to be more stupid than I am. It is, after all, Cranajour’s information which has enabled you to arrest the band of Numbers. Consequently...”

“Cranajour’s information? You are mad, Fandor!

Whatever makes you imagine that Cranajour is in league with our force?”