rtyard
at the back separated it from the Avenue de la Tour-Maubourg.

The house consisted of three storeys, and a ground-floor approached by
a few steps.

Fandor returned to the Esplanade des Invalides, and walked up and down
under the trees for some time, watching the comings and goings of the
neighbourhood. At a quarter to seven he had looked at his watch, and,
not seeing any light in the first-floor rooms, the shutters of which
were not yet closed, he concluded that the inmates had probably not
come in.

Just then Fandor saw an automobile, a very elegant limousine, draw up
before M. de Naarboveck's house. A man of a certain age descended from
it, and vanished in the shadow of a doorway: the door had opened as
the carriage stopped.

"That's de Naarboveck," thought Fandor.

Then he saw the carriage turn and move away.

"The carriage goes in: the master does not go out again," deduced
Fandor.

A short time after, the chauffeur, having taken off his livery, came
out of the house and went away.

"Good," remarked Fandor. "The man I am after will not budge from the
house to-night."

The next to enter were two young women: then some twenty minutes
passed. The rooms on the first floor were lit up, one after the other.
The house was waking up. Fandor was making up his mind to ring when a
motor-car brought a fourth person to the door. It was a young man,
smart, distinguished-looking, very fair, wearing a long thin drooping
moustache: movements and appearance spoke his profession: an officer
in mufti, beyond question.

Fandor once more encircled the house; he had reached the door opening
on to the Avenue de la Tour-Maubourg when he saw a confectioner's boy
slip into the house.

"M. Dupont told me de Naarboveck lived alone with his daughter,
therefore he has people dining with him this evening," reasoned the
journalist. He then decided to dine himself, and return an hour and a
half later. Naarboveck well dined and wined could give him more time,
and would be the easier to interview.

Three-quarters of an hour later Fandor left the humble eating-house,
where he had dined badly in the company of coachmen and
house-servants, but fully informed as to the private and public
existence of the person he was going to interview. He had set his host
and his table neighbours gossiping to such purpose that he could tell
at what time de Naarboveck rose in the morning, what his habits were,
if he fasted on Fridays, and what he