ad been
hidden in the darkness.

Clarisse Mergy continued, in a firmer voice:

"Yes, his name was on it, but by mistake, by a piece of incredible
ill-luck of which he was the victim. It is true that Victorien Mergy
was a member of the committee appointed to consider the question of the
Two-Seas Canal. It is true that he voted with the members who were in
favour of the company's scheme. He was even paid--yes, I tell you so
plainly and I will mention the sum--he was paid fifteen thousand francs.
But he was paid on behalf of another, of one of his political friends,
a man in whom he had absolute confidence and of whom he was the blind,
unconscious tool. He thought he was showing his friend a kindness; and
it proved his own undoing. It was not until the day after the suicide of
the chairman of the company and the disappearance of the secretary, the
day on which the affair of the canal was published in the papers, with
its whole series of swindles and abominations, that my husband knew
that a number of his fellow-members had been bribed and learnt that the
mysterious list, of which people suddenly began to speak, mentioned
his name with theirs and with the names of other deputies, leaders of
parties and influential politicians. Oh, what awful days those were!
Would the list be published? Would his name come out? The torture of it!
You remember the mad excitement in the Chamber, the atmosphere of terror
and denunciation that prevailed. Who owned the list? Nobody could
say. It was known to be in existence and that was all. Two names were
sacrificed to public odium. Two men were swept away by the storm. And it
remained unknown where the denunciation came from and in whose hands the
incriminating documents were."

"Daubrecq," suggested Lupin.

"No, no!" cried Madame Mergy. "Daubrecq was nothing at that time: he had
not yet appeared upon the scene. No, don't you remember, the truth came
out suddenly through the very man who was keeping it back: Germineaux,
the ex-minister of justice, a cousin of the chairman of the Canal
Company. As he lay dying of consumption, he wrote from his sick-bed to
the prefect of police, bequeathing him that list of names, which, he
said, would be found, after his death, in an iron chest in the corner of
his room. The house was surrounded by police and the prefect took up
his quarters by the sick man's bedside. Germineaux died. The chest was
opened and found to be empty."

"Daubrecq, this time," Lu