roduce a similar effect?" asked Corentin,
clinging to his idea.

"There is but one," said Desplein, after a careful examination. "It is a
poison found in the Malayan Archipelago, and derived from trees, as yet
but little known, of the strychnos family; it is used to poison that
dangerous weapon, the Malay kris.--At least, so it is reported."

The Police Commissioner presently arrived; Corentin told him his
suspicions, and begged him to draw up a report, telling him where and
with whom Peyrade had supped, and the causes of the state in which he
found Lydie.

Corentin then went to Lydie's rooms; Desplein and Bianchon had been
examining the poor child. He met them at the door.

"Well, gentlemen?" asked Corentin.

"Place the girl under medical care; unless she recovers her wits when
her child is born--if indeed she should have a child--she will end her
days melancholy-mad. There is no hope of a cure but in the maternal
instinct, if it can be aroused."

Corentin paid each of the physicians forty francs in gold, and then
turned to the Police Commissioner, who had pulled him by the sleeve.

"The medical officer insists on it that death was natural," said this
functionary, "and I can hardly report the case, especially as the dead
man was old Canquoelle; he had his finger in too many pies, and we
should not be sure whom we might run foul of. Men like that die to order
very often----"

"And my name is Corentin," said Corentin in the man's ear.

The Commissioner started with surprise.

"So just make a note of all this," Corentin went on; "it will be very
useful by and by; send it up only as confidential information. The crime
cannot be proved, and I know that any inquiry would be checked at the
very outset.--But I will catch the criminals some day yet. I will watch
them and take them red-handed."

The police official bowed to Corentin and left.

"Monsieur," said Katt. "Mademoiselle does nothing but dance and sing.
What can I do?"

"Has any change occurred then?"

"She has understood that her father is just dead."

"Put her into a hackney coach, and simply take her to Charenton; I will
write a note to the Commissioner-General of Police to secure her being
suitably provided for.--The daughter in Charenton, the father in a
pauper's grave!" said Corentin--"Contenson, go and fetch the parish
hearse. And now, Don Carlos Herrera, you and I will fight it out!"

"Carlos?" said Contenson, "he is in Spain."

"He is in P