inspector, whose
voice was probably an assumed one, replied only by monosyllables. Fandor
did not recognise his voice. But there was another speaker, who also had
very little to say for himself; and Fandor thought he recognised certain
tones as belonging to a man who had been much in his thoughts of late.

"Thomery!" thought he. "Is it Thomery?"

But he only knew the sugar refiner by sight, and had heard him speak but
once or twice at the ball: that was not enough to go on, for Fandor had
not paid special attention to the distinguishing tone and quality of his
host's voice. Nevertheless, he could not get out of his head the idea
that the celebrated sugar refiner, honoured by all Paris, esteemed by
everybody, was standing only a step or two away from him now in this
house of strange happenings, and under very peculiar circumstances. "Was
he a burglar--an assassin? One of a nefarious band?"

For Fandor was now convinced that these were not police emissaries
bearing a legal mandate to search and distrain: no, they were robbers,
criminals! He was preparing to rise from his hiding place and appear
before the bandits: he would fire a few shots and make the deuce of a
row and rouse the neighbourhood. He would also save poor Madame Bourrat,
who was certainly not their accomplice. Just then he heard the pretended
police inspector say:

"Will you provide us with writing materials, madame? We must write an
official report."

"Why, certainly, monsieur," replied Madame Bourrat. "I will go
downstairs and get what you require."

Fandor heard her leave the room. No sooner had she gone than a hurried
conversation began in low tones. Clearly Jules was guilty, for the
pretended police inspector asked:

"No one this evening? Nothing happened?"

"No," replied Jules in a servile tone. "The journalist brought the
mistress back and then went off at nine o'clock...."

"No news of Alfred?" asked the voice.

The third person answered:

"Why, no. You know very well he is always at the Depot."

"Let us set to work!" said voice number one.

Fandor felt that the decisive moment had arrived: someone opened the
cover of the trunk and feverish hands were turning over the confused
mass of objects in the top compartment.

"Didn't you find anything?" asked the voice of Jules.

"No, no, monsieur! I searched everywhere; but as I do not read easily,
it's difficult for me...."

"Imbecile!" murmured the voice.

"Ah!" said Fandor to himself