ewhere in London--some hotel, I think--I did not pay
much attention. Anyway, while he was looking for his job he certainly had
plenty of money--plenty! He do himself very well with his
lunches--sometimes he come and have his dinner at night. We are not
expensive, you understand--nice lunch for two shillings, nice dinner for
three--nothing to him, that--he always carry plenty of money in his
pockets. Well, then, of course, having nothing to do, often he talks to
me and Madame. One day we talk of the pogs, then walking about the
establishment. He remarks that they are too fat. Madame sighs and says
the poor darlings do not get sufficient exercise. He is good-natured,
this Federman--he say at once 'I will exercise them--I, myself,' So he
come next day, like a good friend, Madame puts blue ribbons on the pogs,
and bids them behave nicely--away they go with Federman for the
excursion. Many days he thus takes them--to Hyde Park, to Kensington
Gardens--out of the neighbourliness, you understand. Madame is much
obliged to him--she regards him as a kind young man--eh? And then, all of
a sudden, we do not see Federman any more--no. Nor hear of him until
monsieur asks for news of him in the papers. I see that news last
night--Madame sees it! We start--we look at each other--we regard
ourselves with comprehension. We both make the same exclamation--'It is
Federman! He is wanted! He has done something!' Then Madame says,
'Aristide, in the morning, you will go to the police commissary,' I say
'It shall be done--we will have no mystery around the Cafe Bonnechose.'
Monsieur, I am here--and I have spoken!"

"And that is all you know, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief.

"All, monsieur, absolutely all!"

"About when was it that this young man first came to your cafe, then?"

"About the beginning of March, or end of February, monsieur--it was the
beginning of the good weather, you understand."

"And he left off coming--when?"

"Beginning of April, monsieur--after that we never see him again. Often
we say to ourselves, 'Where is Federman?' The pogs, they look at the seat
which he was accustomed to take, as much as to ask the same question.
But," concluded M. Bonnechose, with a dismal shake of his close-cropped
head, and a spreading forth of his hands, "he never visit us no
more--no!"

"Now, listen, M. Bonnechose," said the chief; "did this man ever give you
any particulars about himself?"

"None but what I have told you, monsieur--an