After his midnight mishap, Puymirol, still suffering from his fall, slowly and gloomily retraced his steps. What should he do with himself? He was in no humour to go to bed, and the thought occurred to him that he might perhaps still retrieve his losses at the gaming-table. The doors of his own club were closed against him until his outstanding debt was paid, but he knew other places easy of access, for in Paris there are plenty of private gambling-dens to which a man can gain admission by feeing the doorkeeper, as Puymirol was well aware. Thus in his great need, the idea of again trying his luck occurred to him, and he did not lose a moment in carrying it into execution. But, alas, the thirty louis which still remained to him were speedily lost in an establishment of the ChaussÉe d'Antin; and Puymirol, disheartened and exhausted, left the card-room, and passing into an adjoining apartment flung himself upon a sofa. He felt that irresistible longing to sleep which so often follows upon great crises. His eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep them open, and in a few moments he fell into a profound slumber which no one at first disturbed, for at the gaming-table players don't trouble themselves about the wounded. He was still sleeping heavily when he was roughly shaken by a footman; and when he opened his eyes in bewilderment he found that it was broad daylight. "What time is it?" he inquired, with a yawn.

"Past eight o'clock," replied the footman sullenly. "All the other gentlemen left a long while ago; and I must set the room in order. This isn't a lodging house."

Puymirol felt strongly inclined to kick the fellow who had so rudely recalled him to the realities of life, but he restrained his wrath, and rose up without a word. He found his hat and overcoat in the cloak-room, and forthwith left the establishment, having decided to return home at once so as to see George and procure the letters, for his late reverses had discouraged him so much that he was now inclined to accept Madame de Lescombat's offer. He accordingly walked towards the boulevard. Paris was already astir; the passers-by jostled him on the side walk, and vehicles went rapidly to and fro. As he was hastening past a doorway he narrowly escaped stumbling over a boy who was lying there, more than half asleep. At this, he paused, with a muttered oath, and heard the urchin mumble a few words which he did not at first understand. Our friend was not in the best of humours by any means, and he felt highly incensed with the little fellow, whom he suspected of lying in wait to trip up unwary passers-by. "What did you say, you young rascal?" he cried savagely.

"Buy the official list," sleepily responded the lad, rubbing his eyes.

Seizing the little fellow by his coat collar, Puymirol set him on his feet in the twinkling of an eye. "Do you know," said he, "you very nearly broke my neck, and I have a great mind to call a policeman to take you to the station-house? What do you mean by going to sleep on the pavement?"

"It is not my fault, sir," sobbed the boy. "I dared not go home because I hadn't sold all the lists. Mother would have been sure to beat me. So I ran about the streets all the evening until I couldn't stand it any longer, and then I sat down here to rest, and fell asleep. Don't have me arrested, please don't. I am going to set to work again now, and perhaps I shall manage to sell what I've got left."

Puymirol was really kind-hearted, and the sight of the lad's distress so touched him, that he put his hand in his pocket. He found himself richer than he had supposed, for his pocket happened to contain a quantity of small silver, which had escaped the croupier's rake. "What have you got there?" he asked.

"Why, sir, I'm selling lists of the winning numbers of the Lottery of the Decorative Art Society. They cost only two sous apiece; buy one, sir."

"Well, here are five francs, my lad. You don't look to me as if you had much dinner yesterday. Go and get something to eat, and then go home to bed. You can take the money you have left to your mother, and she won't beat you."

The boy took the money, trying to falter out his thanks; and as Puymirol hastened on, he ran after him, and forced one of the lists of winning numbers into his hand, saying: "Please take it. It may bring you good luck, sir."

In Puymirol's present desperate plight the remark sounded very much like a sarcasm. Still he took the list, and as he went on his way he glanced at it mechanically, and beheld in large figures the number of the ticket which had won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs.

"Number 115,815!" he murmured. "That is to say, there is now somewhere in Paris, or in the provinces, a fortunate mortal who paid a franc for a scrap of paper which he can now exchange for one hundred thousand francs in bank notes. And this lucky fellow is perhaps a millionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with already, whereas if I had one hundred thousand francs I should consider myself independent for life." So reflecting, Puymirol crumpled the list in his hand, and was about to throw it away, when a new idea flashed through his brain. "Why, I still have those tickets I found in the pocket-book. While I was chasing that rascal last night, I placed them in my waistcoat pocket. What if I should find one of the winning numbers among them? Let me see."

He drew out the little packet of tickets, some two dozen in number, and, stopping short behind a newspaper kiosk, he slowly unfolded them. As he glanced at the topmost ticket he could scarcely believe his eyes, for there was the number—the winning number printed in the centre of it. He read and re-read it, examined it again and again, and compared it, figure by figure, with the list in his other hand; but it was all quite true, he certainly had in his possession No. 115,815, which entitled its owner to the grand prize. He had nineteen francs in his pocket, nothing in his desk, and one hundred thousand francs between his fingers. The shock was so great and so unexpected, that, proof as he had always considered himself against emotion, he was obliged to lean against the newspaper kiosk for support. His brain reeled. But suddenly a fresh thought occurred to him. "Dash it! the ticket isn't mine! It belonged to Dargental. In fact, it is the only piece of property he left for his heirs, if he has any. I have no right to appropriate it. It would be a theft." Puymirol's face lengthened, but he quickly recovered himself. "A theft, no. I did not steal it; I found it, or rather it was thrown to me, which amounted to the same thing as giving it to me."

This sophistry did not deceive him, however. He had invented it to quiet his conscience; but he realised how shallow it was. Then he thought of consulting Caumont, but he felt a presentiment that George would advise him to give up the ticket; and he did not care for advice which he did not intend to follow. But where and how was this grand prize payable? Would it only be necessary to show this triumphant No. 115,815 at the lottery office to convert it into bank notes? One of these questions was answered on the back of the ticket. He there read that the office of the Lottery of the Society of Decorative Arts was at the Palais de l'Industrie, in the Champs ElysÉes, Door No. 4. Puymirol's position was too desperate for him to indulge in much reflection. He made a nervous gesture as if to say: "I must cross the Rubicon," and then he replaced the tickets in his pocket. However, before going to the lottery office, he must set his toilet right. Still, this was easily managed. There were some Turkish baths hard by, and after indulging in the wholesome luxury of Oriental ablutions, he proceeded in due course to a fashionable barber's, where he was shaved, cosmetiqued, and perfumed, so that he would have been presentable anywhere, although he had not changed his linen. These preparations occupied him until eleven o'clock, and then, after partaking of a light breakfast, which exhausted his remaining funds, he hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie. At door No. 4, which seemed to him very like the gate of Paradise, he found a liveried footman talking with two men whom he took for favourites of fortune, who, like himself, had come to receive their money. He explained why he wished to speak to the secretary, and the attendant having gazed at him with admiring envy, told him to walk upstairs. The two persons who had been waiting, followed in his wake, and they all three entered a large ante-room on the first floor. A clerk rose on seeing them, and Puymirol was about to repeat his statement when one of the other fellows hastily approached the clerk, took him aside, and said a few words to him in a low tone; thereupon the clerk immediately opened a side door, and the man passed out and disappeared.

Turning to Puymirol, the clerk then inquired what he wanted, and on learning that he had come to cash a winning ticket, he at once opened a door leading into the office proper, where Puymirol found two prepossessing-looking gentlemen. One of them sat in an arm-chair, while the other occupied a stool at the end of the same table, and had a large leather case, such as is employed for the conveyance of documents, before him. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" inquired the gentleman in the arm-chair.

"I am the holder of ticket No. 115,815, which is mentioned as having won one hundred thousand francs at your last drawing."

"I congratulate you, sir. Will you take a seat?"

Puymirol accepted the invitation; but in spite of his gracious reception, he felt ill at ease in the presence of these two persons. When a man has not a clear conscience, he sees danger everywhere, and Puymirol almost fancied himself a culprit arraigned before an investigating magistrate and his secretary. It was necessary to exhibit the ticket, however, so he drew the whole packet from his pocket and handed it to the gentleman in the arm-chair, who unfolded it, and examined the tickets one after another. "Here are some that do not interest us," he remarked: "the Tunisian Lottery, the Amsterdam Lottery."

"Yes," replied Puymirol, "I take a chance or two in all of them, but so far I have never won anything."

The official continued his examination, and finally lighted upon No. 115,815. This he examined closely, first upon one side, and then upon the other, and finally passed it to the gentleman seated at the end of the table. "Excuse this close examination," he remarked to Puymirol. "It not infrequently happens that spurious tickets are presented to us; that is to say, tickets of which the numbers have been altered."

"That is not the case with mine, I suppose?"

"No, sir. It is a little soiled, but it has not been tampered with."

"Then I can draw the amount?"

"There are certain formalities which must be gone through first of all. Will you give me your name and address?"

Puymirol coloured slightly. "Is this indispensable?" he asked. "I don't care to have my name in the papers. If it became known that I had won this prize," he added, a little nervously, "I should be beset on every side by requests for money. All my impecunious friends would make demands upon my purse, and my hundred thousand francs wouldn't last long."

"Oh! you need have no fears, sir. We shall not publish your name. This isn't the first time that winners have requested us not to give their names, and we have always complied with such requests, although, by doing so, we miss an excellent advertisement for our lottery. You need not, therefore, object to giving us your name and address. They will be recorded upon our books, but no one will be allowed to see them."

"That is all I ask. My name is AdhÉmar de Puymirol. I am a medical student, and I reside at No. 14 Rue de Medicis."

"Very well, sir, we will make a note of it. I forgot to mention that you would be obliged to give this information, in any case, for no winner can draw a penny of his money without giving a receipt to which his address must be appended."

"I fancied that it would only be necessary to present the ticket at your office so as to obtain the money, but I am ready and willing to give a receipt for it."

The gentleman took no notice of this hint. He seemed to have become suddenly absorbed in the examination of some papers; however, the person whom AdhÉmar had taken for a secretary, looked up, and, with his eyes fixed searchingly on the applicant's face, he curtly asked: "How old are you?"

"What difference can my age possibly make? I have attained my majority, as you see, and that is all that is necessary to make my receipt perfectly valid."

"Where were you born?"

"What business is that of yours?" replied AdhÉmar, exasperated by these strange questions.

"You refuse to answer, then?"

"Yes, certainly. I came here to draw the money due to me. I don't intend to be cross examined like some criminal."

"Be careful, I am a commissary of police."

Puymirol turned pale. He realised, at last, that he had plunged blindly into a frightful abyss, and that his imprudence was about to cost him dear. He was resolved to defend himself to the last, however. "I was not aware that the managers of this popular lottery required the assistance of police officials in the performance of their duties," he retorted. "This precaution will hardly favour the sale of tickets, should it become known to the public, and I will take good care to inform people about it."

"You are speaking to a magistrate, remember. Tell me where, and when, you purchased this ticket?"

"At a tobacconist's, probably."

"What tobacconist's?"

"The deuce take me if I can remember. I purchased between twenty and thirty tickets, and in a dozen different places. They are all here on the table."

"Yes, I see you have brought them all. It is strange that the idea of detaching the winning ticket did not occur to you. One can not think of everything, however."

"I brought the package exactly as I took it from my pocket-book."

"Have you that pocket-book about you?"

"No," stammered Puymirol, disconcerted by this question, which he might have foreseen, however. "I left it at home."

"Of course, great as your audacity may be, you would hardly dare to produce that. It bears other initials than yours."

"Produce it if you can," retorted Puymirol, imprudently.

"I understand. You have no fear of its being produced; you have destroyed it."

This time the commissary had made a mistake, and a suspicion that had flashed across Puymirol's mind a few moments before, was effectually dispelled. He had fancied that his assailant of the previous night might have been set upon his track by the police, who had taken forcible possession of the pocket-book, by orders of his superiors. "I do not understand you, unfortunately," said AdhÉmar. "But let us put an end to this. What are you aiming at?"

"Well, a crime was committed in Paris about a fortnight ago. A well-known gentleman, a man of fashion, was murdered at mid-day, in his rooms. You must have heard of the affair?"

"Yes, through the papers."

"Well, the gentleman's valet was arrested; but, as there was no evidence against him, he has been released. The murderer has not only escaped detection so far, but the motive that prompted the crime has not yet been discovered. All that has been ascertained is that the victim always carried a pocket-book, of which a full description has been given, and that this pocket-book has disappeared."

"All this is very interesting," sneered Puymirol. "The pocket-book probably contained a large sum of money?"

"That is the general supposition, but one can not be sure. One thing, however, is certain; it contained several tickets of this lottery, and among this gentleman's private papers, a list of these tickets was found. It occurred to the investigating magistrate that he might utilise this information in the improbable event of one of these particular tickets winning a prize, and being presented for payment by the murderer. It was one chance in a million, and yet it has occurred. As soon as the investigating magistrate ascertained that one of these tickets had won the grand prize, he gave me orders to come here with two detectives. Now, you must understand the situation. What have you to say?"

"Nothing."

"Your silence is equivalent to a confession of guilt. You admit, then, that you purloined these tickets after killing the man who had them about his person?"

"I admit nothing of the kind."

"Oh! it is patent that you took them from the body of your victim; and you had the courage to open the pocket-book immediately after murdering that unfortunate man. Look at this ticket. The mark of your bloody fingers is still upon it."

As the commissary spoke he spread the ticket out upon the table and pointed to a couple of pale red stains upon the back of it and which Puymirol had not perceived when he had looked at the ticket on the boulevard. However he made no attempt to refute the commissary's arguments. He had decided to defend himself in a different way. "So you really accuse me of murder and robbery?" he asked.

"I have merely stated the facts and the conclusions one must naturally draw from them. It is for you to prove that my deductions are false. Now, do you still persist in declaring that you purchased the tickets in a cigar shop?"

"No," was AdhÉmar's reluctant response. "I found them in a cab a fortnight ago."

"And you kept them until now?"

"I attached very little importance to the occurrence. Lottery tickets are seldom of any value."

"Before the drawing, perhaps so; but afterwards when one of them has won a prize, it is very different."

"I admit that I yielded to the temptation of trying to profit by what seemed almost a godsend; I had no idea of doing so until this morning, however, when a list of the winning numbers happened to fall into my hands. I had the tickets in my pocket at the time, and impelled by a very natural curiosity to compare them with the list, I saw that the first prize had been won by No. 115,815. I yielded to the temptation which I regret, and I am certainly sufficiently punished."

"Why did you not inform Monsieur Robergeot of the finding of these tickets?" inquired the commissary, after a prolonged pause.

"Who is Monsieur Robergeot?"

"The investigating magistrate who sent for you on the day after the murder. I have his report here. You see I know everything."

"But I had no reason to suppose that this ticket had ever belonged to Dargental. The magistrate said nothing that would lead me to think so. He only asked me what I saw on entering the room in which the body was lying, and what I thought of the valet's connection with the affair."

"At that time the memorandum had not been found. But from what you say, the tickets were in your possession when you were first examined."

Puymirol bit his lip, but it was too late to retract this imprudent admission. "Yes," he replied at last. "They had been in my possession since the previous day, though at the time I forgot all about them."

"You picked them up in a cab you said. In that case, it is natural to suppose that the murderer dropped them there, or that he left them there intentionally. He certainly did not murder Monsieur Dargental to obtain possession of them. However, where did you take this cab?"

"At the cab-stand near my house outside the Luxembourg."

"And it took you where?"

"To the Lion d'Or restaurant where Dargental had asked me to meet him. He was giving a lunch that day to several friends."

"At what hour did you reach the restaurant?"

"About noon."

"And the crime must have been committed at about eleven o'clock. It is strange that the murderer should have driven back to the OdÉon almost to your very door."

Puymirol made no reply. He felt that he was not capable of contending with the commissary. "Did you take the number of this cab?" added the official.

"No. I had no special reason for taking it."

"Excuse me: had you done so, you might have questioned the driver, and have ascertained where he had left the passenger who had dropped the lottery tickets. It is true that you were not anxious to find him, as you had already decided to keep them." Puymirol flushed, and hung his head. To clear himself of the charge of murder he had placed himself in such a position that he could not deny a fraudulent intention. "It is a great pity," continued the commissary. "The driver's testimony would be of great importance, for the magistrate is not obliged to take your word, and if you can produce no witness—Were you alone in the cab?"

This time Puymirol hesitated. It was too great a risk to mention George Caumont's name, for George, who was ignorant of the real situation of affairs, would simply tell the truth, and then the pocket-book, which Puymirol no longer possessed, would come into question; and besides, George would probably hand over the letters. Perhaps he would even tell the magistrate that one of the letters was written by the Countess de Lescombat, and one of the others probably by Blanche Pornic, in which case the least that could happen to Puymirol would be a conviction for perjury; so hoping to avert this new danger by a falsehood, he replied unblushingly: "I was alone."

"There is nothing left for us, then, but to try and find the driver," replied the commissary coldly, "and we may, perhaps, succeed in finding him. We have the exact date, as well as the point of departure, and the place of destination. We will make inquiries at the office of the cab company, and at all the livery stables. If the driver remembers the occurrence he can give us the clue we want."

Puymirol knew perfectly well that the driver would recollect the occurrence, as he had given the mysterious stranger who had purloined the pocket-book full information about it, so seeing that he was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, he decided to make a bold attempt to cut the interview short. "I reproach myself bitterly for having yielded to a temptation for which I blush," he said. "You must blame me very severely, but I hope you will not carry matters to extremes. I belong to a respectable family, and my past life is without a stain. I shall be at your disposal, of course, but I ask your permission to withdraw."

"My powers are more limited than you suppose," said the commissary gravely. "The magistrate will pay due attention to your explanation, but you must give it to him in person. He must now be at the Palais de Justice, and I will accompany you there."

"Nothing would please me better. I thought of calling at his office to-day, and as you are kind enough to accompany me—"

"It is my duty."

The commissary then rang. One of the detectives who had remained in the ante-room entered, and received orders to fetch a cab: then, taking up his case of documents, the commissary left the room in company with Puymirol, whose wonted assurance had nearly deserted him. They found the cab at the door, and entered it, one of the detectives climbing upon the box, and seating himself beside the driver. The journey was a silent one, and ended upon the Quai de l'Horloge, at the entrance to the court-yard of the Conciergerie. "Where are you taking me?" asked Puymirol. "Monsieur Robergeot's office is in the building facing the boulevard."

"You will soon be summoned there," replied the commissary. "But I must see him before you do, and in the meanwhile I must consign you to the dÉpÔt of the Prefecture of Police."

---