that, and when?" asked the Chief of the Surete.

"Oh! many years ago, in America, in Philadelphia. There were stolen from
my laboratory the drawings of two inventions that might have made the
fortune of a man. Not only have I never learnt who the thief was, but
I have never heard even a word of the object of the robbery, doubtless
because, in order to defeat the plans of the person who had robbed me,
I myself brought these two inventions before the public, and so rendered
the robbery of no avail. From that time on I have been very careful to
shut myself in when I am at work. The bars to these windows, the
lonely situation of this pavilion, this cabinet, which I had specially
constructed, this special lock, this unique key, all are precautions
against fears inspired by a sad experience."

"Most interesting!" remarked Monsieur Dax.

Monsieur Rouletabille asked about the reticule. Neither Monsieur
Stangerson nor Daddy Jacques had seen it for several days, but a few
hours later we learned from Mademoiselle Stangerson herself that the
reticule had either been stolen from her, or she had lost it. She
further corroborated all that had passed just as her father had stated.
She had gone to the poste restante and, on the 23rd of October, had
received a letter which, she affirmed, contained nothing but a vulgar
pleasantry, which she had immediately burned.

To return to our examination, or rather to our conversation. I
must state that the Chief of the Surete having inquired of Monsieur
Stangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on the
20th of October, we learned that Monsieur Robert Darzac had accompanied
her, and Darzac had not been again seen at the chateau from that time
to the day after the crime had been committed. The fact that Monsieur
Darzac was with her in the Grands Magasins de la Louvre when the
reticule disappeared could not pass unnoticed, and, it must be said,
strongly awakened our interest.

This conversation between magistrates, accused, victim, witnesses and
journalist, was coming to a close when quite a theatrical sensation--an
incident of a kind displeasing to Monsieur de Marquet--was produced. The
officer of the gendarmes came to announce that Frederic Larsan requested
to be admitted,--a request that was at once complied with. He held in
his hand a heavy pair of muddy boots, which he threw on the pavement of
the laboratory.

"Here," he said, "are the boots worn by the murderer. Do yo