e who offered the salts,
undoubtedly inducing her unconsciousness. The sound of a steady tic-tac
she recognized as coming from a nearby clock. Where was she?

Was she really in Juve's apartment?

With a supreme effort she succeeded in turning her head a little, and in
the movement the bandage over her eyes became loosened and fell off. She
could see at last!

She found herself bound to a large sofa placed in the middle of a
well-furnished room. Before her was placed a monstrous and sinister
thing--the menacing barrel of a revolver. Its trigger was bound by a
number of strings, each one ending in a nail. These were embedded in
lighted wax candles, and from the nails hung a counter-weight.

It was not difficult to guess its purport.

When the candles burned down to the nails, these would become detached,
releasing the counter-weights and automatically discharging the revolver
aimed straight at her body. Fantomas had no need to return. His infernal
cunning had found a means to kill her in his absence.

Marie Pascal calculated that the candles would burn for not more than an
hour--an hour and a half at most. The unfortunate girl now began to
undergo the agony of waiting for her approaching end. It seemed to her
that the candles had been piously lighted for some death watch. When the
wax had melted near the first nails, she closed her eyes and a deep sigh
of horror escaped from her lips.

"Pity! Pity!"

Suddenly, Jerome Fandor burst into the chamber, anxious to tell his
friend Juve about the objects he had found in Marie Pascal's room.
Scarcely had he opened the door than he started back in amazement, white
as a sheet. Ah! the horrible spectacle of the young girl lying
motionless, as though dead, she, who in spite of everything, he still
found charming. Then realizing the situation, he sprang forward, put out
the candles and removed the revolver.

"Saved! You are saved!"

With infinite precautions he untied the ropes and placed Marie's head
upon some cushions. She opened her eyes slowly and murmured:

"Where am I? Help! Fantomas!"

Fandor endeavored to reassure her.

"Don't be frightened! Fantomas isn't here; you are saved.... It is I ...
Jerome Fandor."

* * * * *

Marie Pascal was seated in an armchair, still very pale, but with
courage regained.

"Now, Mademoiselle," exclaimed the journalist, "I beg you to tell me
everything.... I promise I won't give you up ... time is