e in detail. His luck still held, for a ray of moonlight suddenly
shone out from behind a cloud. He saw the moon sailing in a clear sky.
There would be sufficient light from the moon rays to enable him to
pursue his investigations.

It was an essentially modern room; the white walls were painted with
ripolin, and were as bare of ornament as a nun's cell. An iron bedstead
stood in the middle of the room: a wardrobe, with a mirror panel in
front, and locked, occupied one of the corners; behind a folding screen
was a toilette table, a Louis XV bureau, two chairs, an arm-chair: that
was all.

After making this rapid inventory, Fandor considered:

"The situation is growing complicated," said he to himself. "I am quite
persuaded that this room will shortly receive a visit from some
individuals who will not court recognition--their interests are all
against that--and they certainly will not be anxious to meet me here!
These individuals assuredly know, at this minute, that the examining
magistrate is going to make a thorough investigation here to-morrow
morning.... How do they know it? It's very simple. The prime mover in
the attempted murder, or one of his accomplices, was assuredly among the
witnesses this afternoon. Is it the amiable Madame Bourrat? Is it that
doltish Jules, who looks an absolute fool, but may be masking his game!
Suppose the serious Barbey pops up? Or the elegant Nanteuil? But I do
not think so--they are rather victims than attackers--everything leads
me to that opinion. But--all this does not tell me whether the place has
already been visited or not!"

Fandor unlocked the drawer, searched for the piece of soap under the
pile of Elizabeth's linen, and had the extreme satisfaction of finding
the soap had not been moved.

"Good! I am here first! Ah, we shall see our men presently! Which, and
how many?"

Fandor seated himself and let his imagination work. He tried to picture
the faces of the mysterious individuals he was determined to track
down--but, so far, in vain!... Then with strange, uncanny persistence,
one face rose again and again before his mental vision, clear,
vital--the face of the enigmatic Thomery, with his silver white hair,
his red face, his light blue eyes, that Yankee head of his, well set on
his robust torso....

"Thomery!" cried Fandor almost aloud. "The fact is, everything leads me
to think ... but don't let us anticipate! Concealment is the next item
on the programme!"

Fandor