aris under an assumed name, and wearing a decoration to
which he had no right, I prosecuted certain inquiries about him. The
result of those inquiries led me to conclude that he was an escaped
convict from the Bagnes of Toulon. Never having seen him at Toulon, I
was unable to prove this fact without assistance. You, Monsieur, have
furnished that assistance, and the proof is now in your hand. It only
remains for Monsieur le Prefet and yourself to decide upon its value."

"Give me the photograph, Monsieur Marmot," said a pale little man in
blue spectacles, who had come in unobserved from a door behind us, while
Mueller was speaking.

The bald-headed Chef jumped up with great alacrity, bowed like a second
Sir Pertinax, and handed over the photograph.

"The peculiar difficulty of this case, Monsieur le Prefet" ... he began.

The Prefet waved his hand.

"Thanks, Monsieur Marmot," he said, "I know all the particulars of this
case. You need not trouble to explain them. So this is the photograph
forwarded from Toulon. Well--well! Sergeant, strip the prisoner's
shoulders."

A sudden quiver shot over Lenoir's face at this order, and his cheek
blenched under the tan; but he neither spoke nor resisted. The next
moment his coat and waistcoat were lying on the ground; his shirt, torn
in the rough handling, was hanging round his loins, and he stood before
us naked to the waist, lean, brown, muscular--a torso of an athlete done
in bronze.

We pressed round eagerly. Monsieur le Chef put up his double eye-glass;
Monsier le Prefet took off his blue spectacles.

"So--so," he said, pointing with the end of his glasses towards a
whitish, indefinite kind of scar on Lenoir's left shoulder, "here is a
mark like a burn. Is this the brand?"

The sergeant nodded.

"V'la, M'sieur le Prefet!" he said, and struck the spot smartly with
his open palm. Instantly the smitten place turned livid, while from the
midst of it, like the handwriting on the wall, the fatal letters T. F.
sprang out in characters of fire.

Lenoir flashed a savage glance upon us, and checked the imprecation that
rose to his lips. Monsieur le Prefet, with a little nod of satisfaction,
put on his glasses again, went over to the table, took out a printed
form from a certain drawer, dipped a pen in the ink, and said:--

"Sergeant, you will take this order, and convey Number Two Hundred and
Seven to the Bicetre, there to remain till Thursday next, when he will
be drafted