nsible to the unpleasantness of slipping on the
soft soil, and walked hither and thither, his only care being not to get
too far away from the Seine, so that he might enter Paris before night.

He was delighted since he had made up his mind to make out and sign
a receipt for the money. But on giving it further consideration, he
perceived that it was not so ingenious as he had at first supposed. Do
not the dealers of stamped paper often number their paper? With this
number it would be easy to find the dealer and him who had bought it.
And then, was it not likely that a scrupulous business man like Caffie
would keep a record of the loans he made, and would not the absence of
this one and the note be sufficient to awaken suspicion and to direct it
to him?

Decidedly, he only escaped one danger to fall into another.

For a moment he was discouraged, but it did not go so far as weakness.
His error had been in imagining that the execution of the idea that had
come to him while picking up the knife was as plain as it was easy. But
complicated and perilous as it was, it was not impossible.

The question which finally stood before him was, to know whether he
possessed the force needed to cope with these dangers, and on this
ground hesitation was not possible; to wish to foresee everything was
folly; that which he would not have expected, would come to pass.

He returned toward Paris, and by the Pont de Suresnes reentered the Bois
de Boulogne. As it was not yet three o'clock, he had plenty of time to
reach the Rue Sainte-Anne before night; but, on the way, a heavy shower
forced him to take shelter, and he watched the falling rain, asking
himself if this accident, which he had not foreseen, would not upset his
plan. A man who had received the force of this shower could not appear
in the street before Caffie's door without attracting the attention of
the passers-by, and it was important for him that he should not attract
the attention of any one.

At length the rain ceased, and at twenty minutes of five he reached his
home. There remained fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight, which was
more than he needed.

He stuck the point of the knife in a cork, and, after having placed it
between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket
of his overcoat, he went out.

CHAPTER XII. THE CRUCIAL MOMENT

When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the
streets were not yet lighted.

The