ther and exposed
at the Morgue in Paris, whilst the Gouffe family had offered a reward
of 500 francs to anybody who could in any way identify the trunk. Beyond
producing a large crop of anonymous letters, in one of which the crime
was attributed to General Boulanger, then in Jersey, these measures
seemed likely to prove fruitless. But one day in December, from the
keeper of a boarding-house in Gower Street, M. Goron received a letter
informing him that the writer believed that Eyraud and Gabrielle Bompard
had stayed recently at his house, and that on July 14 the woman, whom he
knew only as "Gabrielle," had left for France, crossing by Newhaven and
Dieppe, and taking with her a large and almost empty trunk, which
she had purchased in London. Inquires made by the French detectives
established the correctness of this correspondent's information. An
assistant at a trunk shop in the Euston Road was able to identify the
trunk--brought over from Paris for the purpose--as one purchased in his
shop on July 12 by a Frenchman answering to the description of Michel
Eyraud. The wife of the boarding-house keeper recollected having
expressed to Gabrielle her surprise that she should buy such an enormous
piece of luggage when she had only one dress to put into it. "Oh that's
all right," answered Gabrielle smilingly, "we shall have plenty to fill
it with in Paris!" Gabrielle had gone to Paris with the trunk on July
14, come back to London on the 17th, and on the 20th she and Eyraud
returned together to Paris From these facts it seemed more than probable
that these two were the assassins so eagerly sought for by the police,
and it seemed clear also that the murder had been done in Paris. But
what had become of this couple, in what street, in what house in Paris
had the crime been committed? These were questions the police were
powerless to answer.

The year 1889 came to an end, the murderers were still at large. But
on January 21, 1890, M. Goron found lying on his table a large letter
bearing the New York postmark. He opened it, and to his astonishment
read at the end the signature "Michel Eyraud." It was a curious letter,
but undoubtedly genuine. In it Eyraud protested against the suspicions
directed against himself; they were, he wrote, merely unfortunate
coincidences. Gouffe had been his friend; he had had no share whatever
in his death; his only misfortune had been his association with "that
serpent, Gabrielle Bompard." He had certai