Fandor had an intuition – a very strong feeling – that he must follow the trail of this man and make him talk. It was of the utmost importance – something told him this was so.

The navvy was not simply going away, he had the air of a man in flight.

Fandor, who was following now and keenly observant, noticed the hesitating movements of the man – then there was an astonishing move on the navvy’s part: he hailed a taxi and got in. Fandor had the good luck to find another taxi at once; jumping in, he said to the driver:

“Follow the 4227 G.H. which is in front of you: don’t let it out-distance you... you shall have a good tip!” The chauffeur, a young alert fellow, understood there was a chase in question, and amused at the idea of pursuing a comrade through the crowded streets of Paris he set off.

He adroitly cut through a file of carriages and caught up taxi 4227 G.H. He then proceeded to follow closely in its track.

Fandor, keen as a bloodhound on the scent, kept watch over their progress to an unknown destination.

They rolled along the avenue de l’Opéra: they cut across the rue de Rivoli. Then, when they were going at a good pace through the place du Carrousel, Fandor felt much moved by memories of past times, those days of great and wonderful adventures, when he would follow this very route to keep some exciting appointment with his good friend, Juve. How frequent those appointments used to be, when the famous detective was alive and so actively at work – the work of unearthing criminals – those scum of society! Off Fandor used to set when the longed-for summons came, and would meet Juve in his little flat on the left side of the Seine.

Ah, those were times, indeed!

When a lad, Fandor had been practically adopted by the famous detective. Young Jérôme Fandor had served a kind of apprenticeship with Juve, and this had brought him into close touch with the ups and downs of a number of crime dramas: he and Juve together had even been the voluntary, or involuntary, heroes of some of them! Then the tragic disappearance of Juve had occurred, when Fandor had escaped death by a kind of miracle!

After that dreadful date, the journalist had found himself alone, isolated, with not a soul to whom he cared to confide his perplexities, his anxieties, his hopes...

Fandor shuddered at the thought of this.

The taxi had just crossed the bridge des Saints Pères, had followed the quay for a few minutes, then rounding the Fine Arts’ School they entered the old and narrow rue Bonaparte....