Elizabeth rose to go. The poor girl realised that nothing could be gained by prolonging the interview. Her one need now was to be alone, for then she could weep.

Fandor was about to accompany her to the door, when a boy entered:

“Monsieur Fandor, there’s a man wishes to speak to you.” “Say I am not here,” replied our journalist: he had no wish to see strangers just then.

“But, Monsieur Fandor, he says he is the keeper of the landing stage of the passenger boat service, and he comes with reference to the Dollon affair!” Both Elizabeth Dollon and Jérôme Fandor started.

She was trembling. Our journalist said at once:

“Bring him in then!”

The boy went off, and Fandor turned to the trembling girl.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle Elizabeth, do you feel equal to hearing what this man has to tell us? It is not improbable that he has seen something – something it would be best you should not hear – had you not better avoid it?” Elizabeth shook her head in the negative. She was collecting all her forces: she would not remain ignorant of any detail of the terrible tragedy which had cost her brother so dear.“I shall be strong enough,” she announced firmly.

The boy ushered in the visitor. He looked a good specimen of his class, a man about forty. On his cap were the gold anchors of those in the employ of the Paris boat service.“Monsieur!... Madame!... At your service!” The good fellow was very much embarrassed:

“Monsieur Fandor,” he went on, “you do not know me, but I know you very well, that I do!... I read your articles every day in La Capitale. They’re splendid. What I say is...” Fandor cut short his admirer:

“Now tell me what brings you here.”

“Oh, well, here goes! I was reading your article yesterday, about how Jacques Dollon, no more dead than you or I, had escaped over the roofs of the Palais de Justice.

That made me laugh, because I am the keeper of the landing stage at the Pont Neuf Station. This affair is supposed to have happened in my parts, don’t you see?... Well, I had just come to the bit where you also suppose that the corpse might easily have been devoured by rats inside the sewer.... Well, Monsieur Fandor, I can assure you that it was nothing of the sort...” The journalist was all eyes and ears. He signed to Elizabeth that she must keep quiet, so as not to intimidate the good fellow.

“Come now, what is it you have seen?”

“What I’ve seen... Why, I saw Dollon break bounds!”

At this statement Elizabeth grew white as a sheet.

She jumped up, and with clasped hands rushed towards the keeper. “Speak, speak, quickly, I implore you!” she cried.

Fandor drew Elizabeth back gently, and whispered a few words to her. He turned to the keeper: