"Hop along there! See if you can't hurry up a bit!"

The warder opened the door of Elizabeth's Dollon's cell and pushed in an old woman—a horrid looking creature.

"In with you!" commanded the warder in a harsh tone. "You are to stay here till to-morrow. We will find another place for you when we get instructions...."

Poor Elizabeth Dollon stared miserably at this strange companion which Fate, in the person of a warder, had thrust on her.

The old woman stared with no little curiosity at the pale, sad girl.... Silence fell for a few minutes, then the new prisoner asked, in a tone of rough familiarity:

"What's your name?"

"I call myself Elizabeth!"

"Don't know it!... Elizabeth, who?..."

"Elizabeth Dollon...."

The old woman rose from the corner of the mattress she had seated herself on.

"True? You're Elizabeth Dollon?... Well, that's funny! Have you been nabbed long?..."

"You ask if it is long since I was...?"

"Nabbed!... Taken!... Arrested!... Eh?"

Elizabeth nodded in the affirmative. It seemed to her that an infinity of time had passed since her imprisonment at Saint Lazare.

"I was nabbed last night. If you want to know my name, I'm called Mother Toulouche. They say I'm one of the band of Numbers, and that I receive stolen goods! Lies! That's well understood!"

Elizabeth had no desire to go into such an unsavoury question. This horrid old woman rather frightened her; but, such had been her distress and fears since she had been a prisoner, that it was a relief not to be quite alone; to have even this old creature to speak to was better than solitary confinement.

In her character of old jail-bird, Mother Toulouche made herself quickly at home.

"Moved to-morrow, they say I'm to be! Pity! At bottom you're not one of the scurvy sort, but you must be here to play spy on me, for all that!... When do you go out? Are you long for Saint Lago?" Alas, how could Elizabeth tell?

"I like being a barrister," thought Fandor, as he entered Saint Lazare. "For the last hour I have felt a different person, much more serious, more sure of myself, not to say, more eloquent!... I must be eloquent, since I have succeeded in persuading my friend, MaÎtre Dubard, to get himself appointed officially as Mademoiselle Dollon's counsel; then to obtain a permit of communication, and to hand this same permit over to me, so that his identification papers, safely tucked away in my portfolio, make of me the most indisputable of MaÎtres Dubard!"

Fandor might well congratulate himself! By means of this ruse—his own idea—he was enabled to see Elizabeth, not in the prison parlour, but in a special cell, and without a witness. As Fandor crossed the threshold of the sordid building, he said to himself:

"I am MaÎtre Dubard, visiting his client, in order to prepare her defence!"

He easily accomplished the necessary formalities, and, at last, he saw himself being conducted by a morose warder to a little parlour, scantily furnished with a table and a few stools.

"Please be seated, maÎtre," said the surly fellow. "I'll fetch your client along!"

Fandor put down his portfolio, but remained standing, anxious, all aquiver at the thought that he was about to see his dear Elizabeth appear between two warders, just like a common prisoner!

"In a moment she will be here," thought he.... But she must on no account recognise him on entering! By an exclamation she might betray his identity and complicate things! Therefore, Fandor feigned to be absorbed in a newspaper he unfolded and raised, so as to hide his face from the approaching pair. The door opened.

"Come now! Go in!..." growled the warder. "MaÎtre, when you wish to leave, you have only to ring."

The door fell to, heavily, behind the warder.

Fandor made a sharp movement. He stood revealed. He hurried up to Elizabeth.

"Oh, tell me how you are, Mademoiselle Elizabeth!" he cried.

But the girl was struck dumb: she grew suddenly pale, and made no reply.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Will you not give me your hand even? You do not understand why I am here? I had to see you, speak to you without a witness ... that's why I have passed myself off as an advocate!"

The startled girl was regaining her self-control. Fandor was gazing at her with frankly admiring eyes.

"Poor Elizabeth! How I have made you suffer!"

The poor girl's eyes filled with tears.

"Why have you betrayed me?" she demanded in a voice trembling with restrained emotion. "Oh, how could you get me arrested? You, who well know I am not guilty?"

"You really believe I have betrayed you? You actually credited me with that?"

These two young people, meeting in a prison parlour under such tragic circumstances, were hurt and even angry with each other.

Elizabeth Dollon went on:

"Why did you not tell me that you had found on that piece of soap traces of my brother's finger-marks? Why did you accuse me of having received a visit from him, when you yourself had proved that he was dead?"

Fandor took Elizabeth's two little hands in his and pressed them long and tenderly.

"My dear Elizabeth, when I engineered this theatrical stroke in the presence of the examining magistrate, in order to secure your arrest, believe me, I had no time to warn you of what I meant to do.... Ah, if I could have warned you—but it would have only disturbed you to no good purpose, besides—your being really taken by surprise was a help—there could not be any idea of collusion.... Of course, you want the answer to this riddle? You shall have it—that is why I am here.... Don't you remember, Elizabeth, that on the evening before the fatal day you told me that I had twice rung you up on the telephone? And that each time you answered the call you could not find me at the end of the line?... You cannot imagine what I felt when I heard you say that! I never telephoned! I never telephoned to the convent!

"The obvious conclusion was, that the individuals who, for some reason, did not wish to make themselves known, did wish to keep track of you, and to assure themselves that you were still at the convent, rue de la GlaciÈre...."

Fandor's voice trembled a little, as he went on:

"And I was at once afraid, my poor child, that these people who were pursuing you, might be the very same who had got into Madame Bourrat's house, and had tried to kill you.... Ah, do you not see how greatly it hurt and troubled me to think that I had taken you to the convent, and had there placed you in security—as I thought—but where you were far from being safe?"

Again Fandor took Elizabeth's hands in his.

"You do understand now, dear child, why I had you arrested?... I felt you would be safe here.... You see, I could not get your persecutors imprisoned and so prevent them from getting at you. To imprison you was the alternative: you are better guarded here than elsewhere."

Elizabeth smiled a little smile when she saw how moved Fandor was.

"But," replied she, "there is the other point! You certainly told me that you were sure my brother was killed in prison—in his cell!"

"Certainly, I did! The assassination of your brother was premeditated. If the criminals have had accomplices at the DÉpÔt, and such there certainly were, they have been bought over little by little.... The fact of your brother's murder is fresh in the memory of the police, of all, therefore, a special watch is kept over you. I ascertained that it would be so, and Fuselier himself assured me of it: there is a warder specially told off to keep a close guard over you, a safe man, known to be beyond suspicion.... No, Elizabeth, do believe me, if I was the cause of your horrified surprise the other day, and then of your imprisonment, I wished to be sure that you were as safe as it was possible to be; then, freed from such intense anxiety, I felt I should be at liberty to continue my investigations.... Do say you forgive me!"

All Elizabeth could say was:

"But why not have warned me?... I still can't quite see!..."

"Why, because, I only thought of the plan at the last moment! Also, because I feared you might not be able to act surprise naturally enough!... It was absolutely—yes, absolutely necessary—that everyone should take your arrest seriously.... Surely, Elizabeth, you can understand that!"

He repeated his plea.

"Do, do say you forgive me, Elizabeth!"

The smile returned to Elizabeth's lips: she was much moved.

"Indeed, I do... You are always my very good friend: you think of everything, and you watch over me as if ..."

Intimidated, blushing hotly, she stopped short, then changed the conversation.

"Do tell me if you have heard anything fresh!"

Fandor returned to his normal self also. He had sworn to himself that he would not tell Elizabeth he loved her, until he had succeeded in unravelling the tangled skein of the terrible Dollon affair.

"I shall speak," thought he, "when she is once more at peace and free, when she is out of danger. I do not want her to consent to love me just because I have devoted myself to her brother's case. Elizabeth shall be my wife, please God; but only if I deserve her, if I can win her."

And JÉrÔme Fandor told her the story of the famous wicker trunk—but he did not mention Thomery's death, nor did he speak of the horrible murder of Jules.... What was the use of saddening Elizabeth, of adding needlessly to her terrors? Instead, he thought it better to learn what he could from her.

"I have not found that famous list!" said he.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Elizabeth. "I was so worried!... Just imagine that, I found the list after all, and I thought I had lost it! It was in one of my little handbags. I had put it there to bring to you. Here it is: they were quite willing to let me keep it!"

Fandor eagerly took the paper from Elizabeth and proceeded to examine it. Yes, it certainly was a page torn from a note-book of medium size. An unknown hand had traced the following words in bold writing. The names succeeded one another in the form of a list.

Fandor could not find anything more on the paper. Whilst Elizabeth sat silent, Fandor reflected:

"Baroness de Vibray, April 3. Jacques Dollon ... these correspond exactly with the commencement of this mysterious affair: the two first deaths, and the date of their death.... What does Dep. signify? The initials of a name—or—yes, Dep ... DÉpÔt idem—yes, DÉpÔt the same day! That's it! Sonia Danidoff, April 12 ... the full name, the exact date. Barbey-Nanteuil, May 15: the affair of rue du Quatre Septembre occurred May 20; that's pretty near. Two more names, and one date which exactly tallies. GÉrin?... Madame B....? Who are they? Why no date? Ah, GÉrin, lawyer of Madame de Vibray, a crime planned, without date, perhaps because he was not indispensable ... and Thomery! Thomery, who died in the middle of May, as this plan indicates! But, how about the last line? Barbey-Nanteuil, end of May? Oh, beyond a doubt the bankers were to be victims of some fresh aggression on the part of the mysterious author of these lines!"

"Barbey-Nanteuil, end of May! We are at the 28th of the month: only three more days before the sinister date falls due! Are they to be attacked, or is it their money? How to defend them? How organise a trap for the mice?"

Suddenly, Fandor looked up, saw Elizabeth's anxiety, and said quietly:

"Well, this list agrees in every particular with the description you gave me of it, and I don't quite see what fresh information we are likely to get from it. However, will you leave it with me?"

Fandor rose.

"Ah, there is one point which has just occurred to me"—Fandor's voice trembled a good deal—"Do you know for a fact that your brother had bought Thomery shares?"

"He had very few, three or four. I think the Barbey-Nanteuil got them for him."

"And your brother had to pay for them by a certain date?"

"Yes."

Fandor now felt he must tear himself away. He was deeply moved.

"Elizabeth!... Elizabeth!" he cried. "I swear to you we shall clear up these dreadful mysteries amidst which we live, and more, you and I! Only have confidence, I implore you! Grant me a week's grace, less even!" Fandor pressed Elizabeth's hands as though he could never let them go! Such little hands, and so dear!

It was not a farewell he took—it was a veritable flight he took from the girl who now meant so much to him!

Leaving the prison, Fandor walked straight ahead, thinking aloud.

"It is clear—evident! The Barbey-Nanteuils have sold Thomery shares to be paid up on a certain date. Thomery was murdered so that his shares should fall to zero, and so that the Barbey-Nanteuils should realise enormous sums at their monthly clearance. Next Saturday, the coffers of the Barbey-Nanteuil bank will be full of gold, and this same Saturday is the last day of May, the fatal day inscribed on the list. Yes, this coming Saturday, they will pillage the Barbey-Nanteuil bank!"