a few hours' time! Anyhow, read my article in _La
Capitale_; I tell you I am going to take a lot of trouble over it!"...

"A fortnight hence, then, Juve!" He added in a bantering tone:

"Don't dream too much of Fantomas.... What!"

VI

CORPORAL VINSON

With one knee resting on his portmanteau, Jerome Fandor was pulling
with all the force of his powerful arms at the straps in order to
buckle them up.

It was Sunday, November the thirteenth, and five o'clock in the
afternoon. The flat was brilliantly illuminated, and the greatest
disorder reigned throughout.

At last Fandor was off for his holiday! Not to risk losing his train,
our journalist meant to dine at the Lyons railway station.

"Ouf!" cried he, when he had succeeded in cramming his mass of
garments sufficiently tight, and had then closed the portmanteau.

Fandor uttered a sigh of satisfaction. This time there could be no
doubt about his departure--the thing was certain. He was casting a
final glance round when he stopped short in the middle of the passage.

The door-bell had been rung: evidently someone was at the entrance
door. Who was it? What was it? Had something arisen which was going to
prevent his departure? He went quickly to the door. He opened it to
find a soldier on the landing.

"Monsieur Fandor?" he enquired in a gentle, rather husky voice.

"Yes. What is it you want?" replied the journalist crossly.

The soldier came forward a step: then, as if making an effort, he
articulated painfully:

"Will you permit me to enter? I am most anxious to speak to you."

Fandor, with a movement of the hand, signified that the importunate
stranger might come inside. He observed the man closely. He was quite
young, and wore infantry uniform: his stripes were those of a
corporal. His hair was brown, and his light eyes were in marked
contrast to the much darker tones of his face. A slight moustache
shaded his lip.

The corporal followed Fandor into his study, and stood still with an
embarrassed air. The journalist considered him an instant, then asked:

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?"

This question appeared to tear the soldier from a kind of dream. He
jumped, then mechanically stood at attention, as if before a superior
officer.

"I am Corporal Vinson."

Fandor nodded, tried to remember him, but in vain. The name told him
nothing....

"I have not the honour to be known to you, Monsieur, but I know you
very well through your