changed; a pair of dark green spectacles
helped the disguise. It was strange indeed that Papillon had known
him; but at the moment of recognition Quadling had removed his
glasses, no doubt that he might the better examine the object of
his visit to the Morgue, that gruesome record of his own fell
handiwork.

Naturally he drew back with well-feigned indignation, muttering
half-unintelligible words in French, denying stoutly both in voice
and gesture all acquaintance with the person who thus abruptly
addressed him.

"This is not to be borne," he cried. "Who are you that dares--"

"Ta! ta!" quietly put in M. Flocon; "we will discuss that fully,
but not here. Come into the office; come, I say, or must we use
force?"

There was no escaping now, and with a poor attempt at bravado the
stranger was led away.

"Now, Colonel Papillon, look at him well. Do you know him? Are you
satisfied it is--"

"Mr. Quadling, late banker, of Rome. I have not the slightest
doubt of it. I recognize him beyond all question."

"That will do. Silence, sir!" This to Quadling. "No observations.
I too can recognize you now as the person who called himself
Ripaldi an hour or two ago. Denial is useless. Let him be
searched; thoroughly, you understand, La Peche? Call in your other
men; he may resist."

They gave the wretched man but scant consideration, and in less
than three minutes had visited every pocket, examined every secret
receptacle, and practically turned him inside out.

After this there could no longer be any doubt of his identity,
still less of his complicity in the crime.

First among the many damning evidences of his guilt was the
missing pocketbook of the porter of the sleeping-car. Within was
the train card and the passengers' tickets, all the papers which
the man Groote had lost so unaccountably. They had, of course,
been stolen from his person with the obvious intention of impeding
the inquiry into the murder. Next, in another inner pocket was
Quadling's own wallet, with his own visiting-cards, several
letters addressed to him by name; above all, a thick sheaf of
bank-notes of all nationalities--English, French, Italian, and
amounting in total value to several thousands of pounds.

"Well, do you still deny? Bah! it is childish, useless, mere waste
of breath. At last we have penetrated the mystery. You may as well
confess. Whether or no, we have enough to convict you by
independent testimony," said the Judge, severely. "