palliasse. When I arrived the man was dead."

"Dead of what?" demanded Dumoulin.

"A bullet in his heart," replied the surgeon.... "I ascertained this
when undressing him. The bullet will be found at the post-mortem: it
has probably lodged in the vertebral column."

Dumoulin rose: paced the floor: he was greatly agitated.

"Oh, come, come!" he cried. "People are not killed like that in the
open street!... It is unheard of! Unbelievable!... A bullet
presupposes a revolver--a weapon of percussion of some description--a
detonation!... There is a noise, a sound!"

Dumoulin went up to the young surgeon. There was a note of suspicious
contempt in his question:

"Are you quite sure of what you say?"

"I am quite sure, Commandant."

During this discussion Juve had approached Fandor. When the surgeon
made his statement, Juve murmured in Fandor's ear:

"Vinson shot through the heart by a bullet!... Like Captain Brocq!...
Killed undoubtedly by a noiseless weapon ... when crossing the
street!... Here, again, is--Fantomas!"

Things calmed down somewhat. Fandor addressed Dumoulin:

"Excuse me, Commandant, for having troubled you. I should be most
grateful if you would set me at liberty. One tragedy follows hard on
another! It is phenomenal!... I shall have to."...

Commandant Dumoulin burst out:

"By Heaven!" he shouted, thumping the table with his fist: "You are
the limit!... The take-the-cake limit!... You flout me! You practise
on my credulity!... Now you would steal a march on me! Try it on--will
you?... Ah! You are not Corporal Vinson!... No?... You are a
journalist!... You have got to prove that!... Even if you do prove
it, you have got yourself into a pretty pickle by your fooling, by
making a laughing-stock of the entire army in your own preposterous
person--by assuming that uniform!...

"Guards!" shouted Dumoulin. "Take this man back to his cell! Be sharp
about it!... Double his guard!"

Fandor was not allowed time to protest: he was marched off at the
double.

Juve tried to get in a word of explanation.

"I assure you, Commandant, it is certainly Jerome Fandor you are
deal----"

"You!" yelled the commandant. "Get out! Foot it!... Leave me in peace,
can't you!... Out with you, or I'll know the reason why!...
Begone!"...

Dumoulin was apoplectic with rage.

XXVIII

AT "THE CRYING CALF"

"What's your drink?"

"What's your offer?"

Hogshead Geoffrey, also nicknamed "The Barrel," thumpe