e was undergoing repairs, and the motor manufacturers had
supplied the gray car for use in the interim.

Steingall swept the matter aside impatiently.

"Go on," he said to the Frenchman. "You're taking a note of this?" he
added, glancing at police captain Evans.

"Got it," was the laconic reply.

"There is nothing else," said Lamotte. "I noticed that I was being
followed, and soon discovered that I could not shake off a more
powerful car. I was armed, but did not want to get into trouble on my
own account, and I knew that I would have to deal with three men. So I
decided to throw the car in the river, and trust to my wits for a means
of escape. I would have succeeded, too, had I been aware that there
was a fourth man in the party. From where I lay hidden beneath the
wharf I could only count the number of people who crossed to the barge.
I was unable to see them, so I included the chauffeur among the three.
I was wrong. Perhaps it is as well, because I meant to get away, and
would have fought. . . . That is all. . . . Will one of you give me a
cigarette?"

Devar produced a case, and in response to Steingall's nod, offered its
contents to the prisoner, who took two cigarettes; nor could he be
prevailed on to accept more. Despite his hang-dog looks he had an
undoubted air of refinement. Degeneracy had claimed him as its own,
yet some streak of a nobler heredity had struggled to exert its
influence, only to fail.

Steingall put no more questions, and Lamotte relapsed into silence,
smoking nonchalantly while the police captain's pen was scratching a
transcript of the shorthand notes.

Curtis caught Steingall's eye, and drew him aside.

"That fellow told the truth about the actual murder, I think" he said.
"My story coincides with his in every detail."

"I'm sure you are right," agreed the detective. "The odd thing is that
Clancy should have spotted him from your description telephoned to
headquarters. You remember Clancy was looking at a book of photographs
when I brought you to the Bureau?"

"Yes."

"He had found him then. Some time since, during the anarchist troubles
in Chicago, the French police sent us a lot of pictures, and this
fellow's was among them."

"Why didn't he ask me if I recognized him?"

"That is not pretty Fanny's way. Clancy never does what any other man
would do. He hates to have anyone verify an opinion he has once
formed. Had you said the photograph resembled the man y