ine and Crochard were alone together, the former took the
photograph from his pocket, looked at the number on the back, and then
consulted a typewritten list of names. Then, with a hand not wholly
steady, he handed the list to his companion.

"Number eighteen," he said.

Opposite that number Crochard read, "Admiral H. Pachmann, Chief of the
Wireless Service;" and then he gazed at the photograph long and
earnestly, as though impressing it indelibly upon his mind.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SECOND INSTALLATION

The Board of Inquiry began its sessions that afternoon, at the
Prefecture of Marine. It was composed of the most distinguished officers
of France, who had donned for the occasion their most brilliant
uniforms. There was much paraphernalia--secretaries, portfolios,
red-taped papers, reports--all that display so dear to the French
temperament; and every one wore an air of importance and solemnity
befitting time and place.

M. Delcasse opened the session with a ringing speech, forming a notable
contrast to the platitudes uttered by the President in the morning. In
fact, it was so bold in its allusions to an approaching struggle with
"the implacable enemy of the Republic," that the members of the Board
glanced covertly at each other in astonishment. Their astonishment was
the greater because, as they well knew, M. Delcasse was not given to
indiscretions. At least, his indiscretions were always nicely-calculated
ones. He knew when to speak and when to hold his tongue--none better;
and the fact that he thought it necessary to speak now proved that the
affair was serious indeed. At the end of the speech, the Board
proceeded in a body to an inspection of the wreck.

Lepine, meanwhile, armed with the description Crochard had given him,
set his men to work to discover the dwelling-place of the white-haired
stranger who had been seen passing back and forth along the road outside
the city gate. But, to his chagrin, evening came and his men had
discovered nothing. It is true that the investigation was rendered more
than usually difficult by the fact that the town was still in an uproar,
and no one wished to speak of anything but the disaster. For the moment,
the memories of the people went no farther back than dawn of the
previous day. In a day or two, when the first excitement had passed,
there would be a much better chance of success.

So, at least, reasoned Inspector Pigot, whose watchword was always
Patience! But