o seemed to be chief of the twain, having entered
Mueller's replies in a greasy pocket-book of stupendous dimensions, which
he seemed to wear like a cuirass under the breast of his uniform,
proceeded to interrogate the proprietor and waiters.

Was the accused an habitual frequenter of the cafe?--No. Did they
remember ever to have seen him there before?--No. Should they recognise
him if they saw him again? To this question the answers were doubtful.
One waiter thought he should recognise the man; another was not sure;
and Monsieur the proprietor admitted that he had himself been too angry
to observe anything or anybody very minutely.

Finally, having made themselves of as much importance and asked as many
questions as possible, the sergents de ville condescended to accept a
couple of-petits verres a-piece, and then, with much lifting of cocked
hats and clattering of sabres, departed.

Most of the students had ere this dropped off by twos and threes, and
were gone to their day's work, or pleasure--to return again in equal
force about five in the afternoon. Of those that remained, some five or
six came up when the police were gone, and began chatting about the
robbery. When they learned that Flandrin had desired to have a sketch of
the man's head; when Mueller described his features, and I his obstinate
reserve and semi-military air, their excitement knew no bounds. Each had
immediately his own conjecture to offer. He was a political spy, and
therefore fearful lest his portrait should be recognised. He was a
conspirator of the Fieschi school. He was Mazzini in person.

In the midst of the discussion, a sudden recollection flashed upon me.

"A clue! a clue!" I shouted triumphantly. "He left his coat and black
bag hanging up in the corner!"

Followed by the others, I ran to the spot where I had been sitting
before the affray began. But my exultation was shortlived. Coat and bag,
like their owner, had disappeared.

Mueller thrust his hands into his pockets, shook his head, and whistled
dismally.

"I shall never see my sketch-book again, _parbleu!_" said he. "The man
who could not only take it out of my breast-pocket, but also in the very
teeth of the police, secure his property and escape unseen, is a master
of his profession. Our friends in the cocked hats have no chance
against him."

"And Flandrin, who is expecting the sketch," said I; "what of him?"

Mueller shrugged his shoulders.

"Next to being beaten," gr