d, claimed his urgent attention.

It is the first duty of a good detective to visit the actual theatre of
a crime and overhaul it inch by inch,--seeking, searching,
investigating, looking for any, even the most insignificant, traces of
the murderer's hands.

The sleeping-car, as I have said, had been side-tracked, its doors were
sealed, and it was under strict watch and ward. But everything, of
course, gave way before the detective, and, breaking through the seals,
he walked in, making straight for the little room or compartment where
the body of the victim still lay untended and absolutely untouched.

It was a ghastly sight, although not new in M. Flocon's experience.
There lay the corpse in the narrow berth, just as it had been stricken.
It was partially undressed, wearing only shirt and drawers. The former
lay open at the chest, and showed the gaping wound that had, no doubt,
caused death, probably instantaneous death. But other blows had been
struck; there must have been a struggle, fierce and embittered, as for
dear life. The savage truculence of the murderer had triumphed, but not
until he had battered in the face, destroying features and rendering
recognition almost impossible.

A knife had given the mortal wound; that was at once apparent from the
shape of the wound. It was the knife, too, which had gashed and stabbed
the face, almost wantonly; for some of these wounds had not bled, and
the plain inference was that they had been inflicted after life had
sped. M. Flocon examined the body closely, but without disturbing it.
The police medical officer would wish to see it as it was found. The
exact position, as well as the nature of the wounds, might afford
evidence as to the manner of death.

But the Chief looked long, and with absorbed, concentrated interest, at
the murdered man, noting all he actually saw, and conjecturing a good
deal more.

The features of the mutilated face were all but unrecognizable, but the
hair, which was abundant, was long, black, and inclined to curl; the
black moustache was thick and drooping. The shirt was of fine linen, the
drawers silk. On one finger were two good rings, the hands were clean,
the nails well kept, and there was every evidence that the man did not
live by manual labour. He was of the easy, cultured class, as distinct
from the workman or operative.

This conclusion was borne out by his light baggage, which still lay
about the berth,--hat-box, rugs, umbrella, bro