ed midnight
as the time of the playing. A search was instituted for the musicians,
and the villages in the vicinity were scoured for them, but they had
disappeared as completely as the suspicious tobacco-dealer.

On the same morning when the Bancal house was searched and a policeman
found a white cloth with dark spots in the yard, the Bancals, Bach, and
the laborer Missonier, were taken into custody and, loaded with chains,
were thrown into prison. Staring vacantly before them, the five men sat
in the police wagon, which, followed by a crowd of people, chattering,
cursing, and clenching their fists, carried them through the streets.
The report of the cloth discovered in the yard spread in an instant;
that the spots were blood-spots admitted no doubt; that it had been
used to gag Fualdes was a matter of course.

Meanwhile Bousquier, all unstrung by his miserable plight, dragged from
one hearing to another, alarmed by threats, racked by hunger, enticed
by hopes of freedom and illusory promises, had confessed more and more
daily. He was driven by the jailer, he was driven by the magistrate;
for the latter felt the impatience and fury of the people, and the
fables of the press, like the lash of a whip. Bousquier had seemed to
be stubborn; but the presentation of his former stories, which now,
like creditors, extorted an ever-increasing usurious interest of lies,
sufficed to render him tractable. He appeared to be worn out, to be
incapable of expressing what he had seen, of describing what he had
heard,--Monsieur Jausion assisted him by questions which contained the
required answers.

Thus he admitted that he had gone into the Bancal house, and found the
Bancals, the soldier Colard, the smuggler Bach, two young women, and a
veiled lady in the room. The more persons he mentioned, the more
conciliatory grew the countenance of the magistrate, and, as though
into the jaws of a hungry beast, he continued unconcernedly throwing
him bit after bit. He probably recalled other nights spent in the
motley company, and it struck him that the person of the veiled lady
would be an addition which might enhance his credit. Monsieur Jausion
found, however, that an important figure was lacking, and he asked in a
stern tone whether Bousquier had not forgotten somebody. Bousquier was
startled and pondered. "Try your best to remember," urged the
magistrate; "what you conceal may turn into a rope for your neck. Speak
out, then: was there not a