“There are eighty chances out of a hundred that I shall not succeed,” he cried; “but that still leaves me twenty chances of arriving at a satisfactory result – I must make the attempt!”

As Fandor was hurrying off, he called to the portress in passing:

“Madame Oudry, I don’t know whether I shall be back this evening or not. Perhaps I may have to leave Paris for awhile, so would you be kind enough to pay particular attention to any letters that may come for me – be very particular about them please.”

Fandor went off. A thought struck him. He turned back. He had something more to say to the good woman:

“I forgot to ask you whether anyone called to see me yesterday afternoon?”

“No, Monsieur Fandor, no one!”

“Good! If by any chance a messenger should bring a letter for me, look very carefully at him, Madame Oudry. I have a colleague or two who are playing a joke on me, and I should not be sorry to get even with them!” This time Fandor really went off, having set his portress on the alert. In the rue Montmartre he hailed a cab:

“To the National Library! And as quick as you can!”

“By heavens! It’s three o’clock! I’ve not a minute to lose!” cried Fandor as he got back his stick from the cloak-room of the National Library: he had handed it in there some hours ago. He entered the rue Richelieu. Now for an ironmonger’s shop! He caught sight of one and went in:

“I should like a hundred yards of fine cord, please; very strong and very pliable,” said Fandor.

The shopkeeper stared at the smart young man.

“What do you want it for, sir? .. I have various qualities.”

Without the trace of a smile, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he replied:

“It is for one of my friends: he wants to hang himself.”

A shout of laughter was the response to this jest, and the amused shopkeeper forthwith displayed various samples of cords. Fandor promptly made his choice and left the shop.

“Now for a watchmaker’s!” said the journalist. He entered a jeweller’s close by.

“I want an alarm clock – a small one – the cheapest you have!”

Provided with his clock, Fandor looked at his watch again: “Confound it all! It’s half-past three!” he cried. He signalled to a closed cab.

“To the Palais de Justice! As hard as you can drive!” As soon as Fandor was well inside the vehicle, he drew down the blinds; took off his coat; and unbuttoned his waistcoat...