be so?"

The detective was evidently not a little excited; for, self-possessed
as he was, he had turned somewhat pale. He hesitated, handled the
bank-notes, and then, all of a sudden, said,--

"Wait two minutes."

He got up instantly, and ran towards the house.

"Is he going to consult his wife?" M. Folgat asked himself.

He did so; for the next moment they appeared at the other end of the
walk, engaged in a lively discussion. However, the discussion did not
last long. Goudar came back to the bower, and said,--

"Agreed! I am your man!"

The advocate was delighted, and shook his hand.

"Thank you!" he cried; "for, with your assistance, I am almost sure
of success. Unfortunately, we have no time to lose. When can you go to
work?"

"This moment. Give me time to change my costume; and I am at your
service. You will have to give me the keys of the house in Passy."

"I have them here in my pocket."

"Well, then let us go there at once; for I must, first of all,
reconnoitre the ground. And you shall see if it takes me long to dress."

In less than fifteen minutes he reappeared in a long overcoat, with
gloves on, looking, for all the world, like one of those retired
grocers who have made a fortune, and settled somewhere outside of the
corporation of Paris, displaying their idleness in broad daylight, and
repenting forever that they have given up their occupation.

"Let us go," he said to the lawyer.

After having bowed to Mrs. Goudar, who accompanied them with a radiant
smile, they got into the carriage, calling out to the driver,--

"Vine Street, Passy, No. 23."

This Vine Street is a curious street, leading nowhere, little known, and
so deserted, that the grass grows everywhere. It stretches out long and
dreary, is hilly, muddy, scarcely paved, and full of holes, and looks
much more like a wretched village lane than like a street belonging
to Paris. No shops, only a few homes, but on the right and the left
interminable walls, overtopped by lofty trees.

"Ah! the place is well chosen for mysterious rendezvouses," growled
Goudar. "Too well chosen, I dare say; for we shall pick up no
information here."

The carriage stopped before a small door, in a thick wall, which bore
the traces of the two sieges in a number of places.

"Here is No. 23," said the driver; "but I see no house."

It could not be seen from the street; but, when they got in, Mr. Folgat
and Goudar saw it, rising in the centre of an immen