head at all
costs...."

There was another motive besides this of duty which incited him to
follow more closely the vicissitudes of the rue Norvins drama, a motive
still indefinite, vague, but nevertheless terribly strong....

Jerome Fandor had sworn to Elizabeth Dollon that he would get at the
truth.

He recalled the girl's entreaty, her emotion; and when he closed his
eyes, now and again, he seemed to see before him the tall, graceful,
fair and fascinating sister of the vanished artist.... All Fandor would
admit to himself was a chivalrous feeling towards her--Elizabeth Dollon
was worth putting himself out for--that was all!

Our journalist spent the entire morning seated at his writing-table, his
head between his hands, smoking cigarette after cigarette, arranging his
plans for investigating the Dollon case:

"What I have to find out is how the dead man left the Depot. It is the
first discovery to be made, the first impossibility to be
explained--yes, and how am I to set about it?"

Suddenly Fandor jumped up, marched rapidly up and down his room,
whistled a few bars of a popular melody, and in his exuberant gaiety
attempted an operatic air in a voice deplorably out of tune.

"There are eighty chances out of a hundred that I shall not succeed,"
cried he; "but that still leaves me twenty chances of arriving at a
satisfactory result--let us make the attempt!"

As Fandor was hurrying off, he called to the portress in passing:

"Madame Oudry, I don't know whether I shall be back this evening or no.
Perhaps I may have to leave Paris for awhile, so would you be kind
enough to pay particular attention to any letters that may come for
me--be very particular about them, please!"

Fandor went off. A thought struck him. He turned back. He had something
more to say to the good woman:

"I forgot to ask you whether anyone called to see me yesterday
afternoon!"

"No, Monsieur Fandor, no one!"

"Good! If by any chance a messenger should bring a letter for me, look
very carefully at him, Madame Oudry. I have a colleague or two who are
playing a joke on me, and I should not be sorry to get even with them!"

This time Fandor really went off, having set his portress on the alert.
In the rue Montmartre he hailed a cab:

"To the National Library! And as quick as you can!"

* * * * *

"By Jove! It's three o'clock! I've not a minute to lose!" cried Fandor
as he got back his stick from the c