pper made, 'emptied within,' after a
model supplied by himself. And it is this crystal stopper which you and
I have been after for months; and it is this crystal stopper which I dug
out of a packet of tobacco. Whereas all I had to do..."

"Was what?" asked Prasville, greatly puzzled.

M. Nicole burst into a fresh fit of laughter:

"Was simply to go for Daubrecq's eye, that eye 'emptied within so as to
leave a void which it is impossible to suspect,' the eye which you see
before you."

And M. Nicole once more took the thing from his pocket and rapped the
table with it, producing the sound of a hard body with each rap.

Prasville whispered, in astonishment:

"A glass eye!"

"Why, of course!" cried M. Nicole, laughing gaily. "A glass eye! A
common or garden decanter-stopper, which the rascal stuck into his
eyesocket in the place of an eye which he had lost--a decanter-stopper,
or, if you prefer, a crystal stopper, but the real one, this time, which
he faked, which he hid behind the double bulwark of his spectacles
and eye-glasses, which contained and still contains the talisman that
enabled Daubrecq to work as he pleased in safety."

Prasville lowered his head and put his hand to his forehead to hide his
flushed face: he was almost possessing the list of the Twenty-seven. It
lay before him, on the table.

Mastering his emotion, he said, in a casual tone:

"So it is there still?"

"At least, I suppose so," declared M. Nicole.

"What! You suppose so?"

"I have not opened the hiding-place. I thought, monsieur le
secretaire-general, I would reserve that honour for you."

Prasville put out his hand, took the thing up and inspected it. It was
a block of crystal, imitating nature to perfection, with all the details
of the eyeball, the iris, the pupil, the cornea.

He at once saw a movable part at the back, which slid in a groove. He
pushed it. The eye was hollow.

There was a tiny ball of paper inside. He unfolded it, smoothed it out
and, quickly, without delaying to make a preliminary examination of the
names, the hand-writing or the signatures, he raised his arms and turned
the paper to the light from the windows.

"Is the cross of Lorraine there?" asked M. Nicole.

"Yes, it is there," replied Prasville. "This is the genuine list."

He hesitated a few seconds and remained with his arms raised, while
reflecting what he would do. Then he folded up the paper again, replaced
it in its little crystal sheath a