loak-room of the National Library: he
had handed it in there some hours ago. He entered the rue Richelieu. Now
for an ironmonger's shop! He caught sight of one and went in:

"I should like fifty yards of fine cord, please; very strong and very
pliable," said Fandor.

The shopkeeper stared at the smart young man:

"What do you want it for, sir?... I have various qualities."

Without the trace of a smile, and as if it were the most natural thing
in the world, he replied:

"It is for one of my friends: he wants to hang himself!"

A shout of laughter was the response to this witticism, and the amused
shopkeeper forthwith displayed various samples of cords. Fandor promptly
made his choice and left the shop.

"Now for a watchmaker's!" said our journalist. He entered a jeweller's
close by:

"I want an alarum clock--a small one--the cheapest you have!"

Provided with his alarum, Fandor looked at his watch again:

"Confound it all! It's half-past three!" he cried. He signalled to a
closed cab:

"To the Palais de Justice! As hard as you can lick!"

Directly Fandor was well inside the vehicle, he drew down the blinds;
took off his coat; unbuttoned his waistcoat!...

* * * * *

The great clock of the Palais de Justice had just struck four, and its
silvery tones were echoing harmoniously along the corridors when Jerome
Fandor entered the tradesman's gallery. He turned to the right, and
gained the little lobby in which the cloak-room is. He quietly entered
it. Barristers were coming and going, full of business, throwing off
their gowns, inspecting the letters put aside during the sittings of the
Courts. Fandor made his way among the groups with the ease of custom. He
seemed to be looking for someone, and finished by questioning one of the
women employed in the cloak-room:

"Is Madame Marguerite not here?"

"Oh, yes, monsieur, she is down below."

Madame Marguerite was an old friend of Fandor's. She was head of the
cloak-room staff, and by her kind offices she had often obtained an
interview for our journalist with one or other of the big-wigs of the
bar, who generally object strongly to being questioned by journalists.
When she appeared, Fandor told her he only wanted a little bit of
information from her.

"Oh, yes, I know all about that! There is someone you wish to see, and
you want me to manage it for you!"

"No! Not a bit of it! What I want to know is, where these gentlemen o