he details, had
exaggerated the realities, and had given a romantic colouring to the
various incidents in the varied lives and adventures of this daring band
of smugglers.

They had been represented as perfect gentlemen, who had formed
themselves into a marvellously organised Black Band, led by a chief
having right of life or death over them: a band fertile in tricks and
extraordinary stratagems, who massed their plunder in immense vaults and
cellars under the very heart of Paris, in the Isle of the Cite, and
communicating with the river, which, under the eyes of the police,
served to bear the barges laden with their booty.

Cellars and vaults in the Isle of the Cite!

"Well," thought Fandor, "men organised into such a powerful association
in this part of Paris might well put one on the track of strange
discoveries regarding the mysterious events connected with the Jacques
Dollon affair!"

Then, having spoken to his colleagues on the press, Fandor turned in the
direction of the jury and set himself to follow attentively Maitre Henri
Robart's speech for the defence.

XVI

DISCUSSIONS

The portress rang up Fandor on the telephone.

"Monsieur Fandor! There is a stout little lady down here! She wants to
see you! Should I let her go up?"

Fandor's first impulse was to say "no." He glanced at the timepiece: it
was exactly two minutes past eight and Juve might be here at any minute.
He was sure to keep his appointment.

After an instant's hesitation, Fandor decided on a "yes." He called down
to the portress:

"Let her come up!"

Fandor had an idea: perhaps this person knew something about the
appointment made that afternoon at the Palais de Justice! It would be
well to find out the why and wherefore of this call. In any case, it was
best for a journalist to see all comers, if possible.

There was a discreet ring, announcing that the stout little lady had
already mounted the five flights of stairs and was now on Fandor's
landing.

Our journalist went to open the door, standing well back in the shadow,
so that his visitor might show herself first, as she passed into the
little hall.

Yes, she was certainly stout, short, and also elderly. She wore a bonnet
with strings, perched on a thick crop of grey curls, yellowish at the
tips. This elderly dame wore glasses; she was wrapped in a large brown
shawl, and she supported herself, as she walked, with a crook-handled
stick.

Whilst the puzzled Fandor c