"It is evident that this affair was not lightly arranged," said M. DelcassÉ, and ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

LÉpine nodded gloomily.

"You may well say so!" he agreed.

The two sat together in DelcassÉ's room, and LÉpine had just finished his report. Evening was falling, and the room was growing dark, but neither desired a light.

"Everything has been thought of and provided for," said the Prefect, at last, "even to the telegram which gave an excuse for this man's abrupt departure. Perhaps the other telegrams were also intended to mislead us—just as they did mislead me—to convince us that those other men were only ordinary travellers. They must have foreseen that the police would investigate the presence of every stranger in Toulon. It was careless to send both telegrams from Brussels, but a coincidence so small might easily be overlooked. On one point only was there an oversight—they did not foresee that we might trace them by means of the money. There is our hope. Sooner or later, the man with the white hair will spend another of his hundred-franc notes. There is a certain justice in it," he added, "that he should be betrayed by his blood-money."

"Yes, blood-money!" cried DelcassÉ. "That is the word for it! Oh, that I had my hands on the monster—for he is a monster, LÉpine; he must be a monster! There he sat, in cold blood, and loosed the power that killed three hundred men! Have you considered, LÉpine, that the finding of this second installation furnishes, as Crochard foresaw, proof of his theory?"

"Yes," said LÉpine, in a low voice; "this is the proof."

DelcassÉ was on his feet, striding savagely up and down the room.

"But it is absurd," he cried, "it is incredible that here, under our very noses, such things should take place! What are our police for, LÉpine—our secret service?"

"It is the fault of that miserable landlord," LÉpine pointed out.

"Of him an example shall be made. But that does not help us. This man must not escape! Think what it may mean for France if he escapes!"

"I have thought, sir!" and LÉpine's voice was trembling.

DelcassÉ turned on him fiercely."Where is Crochard?" he demanded. "What is he doing all this time?"

"I do not know, sir. I have not seen him since yesterday."

"Rest assured that he has not been idle. Do you know where to find him?"

"I have his address."

"Go to him, then, and say I wish to see him. We must lay these discoveries before him—though no doubt he has already made them for himself. Tell him he must not desert us—that without him, we are lost!"

LÉpine was grateful for the darkness, for his cheeks were red with humiliation. But, after all, M. DelcassÉ was right. He rose with a sigh.

"I will seek him at once, sir," he said.

"Understand well, LÉpine," said the Minister, more gently, "it is not you I blame. You have done all that is possible with the means at your command. But we cannot afford to fail. In an affair of this kind, the public is not reasonable. Should we fail, and should our failure become known, as it almost surely would, the ministry might find itself swept away before the storm. So we must find Crochard."

"I agree with you, sir," said LÉpine, and took his leave.

The CafÉ des Voyageurs was crowded when he reached it, and he had some difficulty in finding a seat. The marines who had been searching the wreck had, at last, been released from duty, and had, with one accord, hastened ashore to refresh themselves at the expense of a populace eager to listen to every detail. The cafÉ hummed with talk; weird and revolting stories of the search were told with gusto; the completeness of the destruction was described; the survivors dwelt upon their sensations at the moment of the explosion; the heroism of the rescuers was not forgotten; but, and LÉpine noted this with a little sigh of relief, nowhere was there an intimation that the disaster was other than an accident.

He sat there for half an hour, listening to all this, and then, as Crochard made no sign, he summoned the head-waiter and requested a word with the proprietor. With a nod, as of one who expected the request, the man turned and again led the way to the door at the rear of the room.

"In there, sir," he said, and closed it when LÉpine had entered.

A single candle burned on the table in the centre of the little room, and beyond it sat a man. At the first glance, in the semi-darkness, LÉpine fancied it was Crochard; then he saw that this man was slighter, that his face was bloodless, and that he was staring with hunted eyes.With a little start of surprise, he looked again; then he sat down.

"So, Samson, it is you!" said LÉpine, quietly.

"Yes, sir," answered Samson. "I was expecting you. But I did not think you would recognise me so readily."

LÉpine laughed shortly.

"I have a good memory," he said. "Crochard told you, perhaps, that I might come?"

"Yes, sir; and he directed that I give you this."

He handed LÉpine a note. The latter broke the seal, held it to the light and read it carefully:

LÉpine refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket.

"When did Crochard leave?" he asked.

"He gave me the note at four o'clock yesterday afternoon, sir, and stated that he was about to depart. I have not seen him since.""Did he mention his destination?"

"No, sir."

LÉpine regarded his companion thoughtfully.

"There is one thing that perhaps you can tell me, Samson," he said. "Previous to his departure, did he visit the house at 80 Rue du Plasson?"

"I think it very probable," answered Samson, after a moment's hesitation. "I myself furnished M. Crochard with that address, when he returned to the cafÉ yesterday for his lunch."

"Ah!" said LÉpine. "So it was you discovered it!"

He fell a moment silent, studying the other's countenance.

"You have indeed changed, Samson," he said, at last. "I suppose it was Crochard who arranged your escape?"

Samson made no reply.

"You have a good business here?"

"Very good, sir."

"You know, of course, that it is my duty to denounce you as an escaped criminal?"

"Yes, I know that, sir."

"Crochard tells me that he will answer for you—in other words, he guarantees that you will not run away. Do you understand that?"

"Do not fear," said Samson, huskily. "Monsieur will always find me here when he requires me."

LÉpine looked at him for a moment, then got abruptly to his feet.

"Very well," he said; "I shall do nothing for the present," and he left the cafÉ.

It was nearly eight o'clock, and, feeling the need of dinner, LÉpine made his way back to his hotel; but his hunger was destined to go unsatisfied, for, as he stepped through the door, Pigot touched him on the arm.

"M. DelcassÉ wishes to see you at once," he said, and LÉpine, with one regretful glance in the direction of the dining-room, hurried up the stairs to the Minister's apartment. He found him dictating to his secretary, a great pile of letters before him.

Without pausing in his dictation, DelcassÉ picked up a telegram which lay at his elbow, and handed it to LÉpine. It was dated from Paris, and had been filed but an hour before. It read:

LÉpine laid the telegram on his desk and glanced at his watch.

"I must be in Paris in the morning," he said.

DelcassÉ nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "And Crochard?""Is no doubt already there," and he handed DelcassÉ the note which Samson had given him.

DelcassÉ read it, and looked up with an amused smile, in which there lurked a trace of malice.

"What a man!" he said. "Nevertheless, LÉpine, I think you would better go. You may be able to assist him! Give him my compliments, and keep me informed," and he turned back to his secretary.

The Paris office of the Messrs. Cook is at the corner opposite the Opera House, and here, about ten o'clock on the morning of Thursday, September 28, a little grey-bearded man descended from a fiacre, entered, and, after a short delay, was admitted to the presence of the manager, who made it clear at once that he was entirely at the service of his distinguished visitor.

LÉpine sat down and produced from his pocket seven notes of the Bank of France, for one hundred francs each. They were quite new and had not even been folded.

"These notes were deposited by you yesterday afternoon," he said. "I should like to know from whom they were received."

The manager took the notes and glanced at them.

"That will not be difficult, sir," he said. "Our cashier can no doubt tell us from which of our clerks he received them. Excuse me a moment."

He hurried from the room with the notes in his hand, and LÉpine, strolling to the window, relapsed into his favourite amusement. At no other corner in the city could it be practised so profitably, for here, at the meeting of the Boulevards, all Paris, sooner or later, passed; and not Paris only, but vagrants from every nation. So LÉpine watched the crowd intently, his bright eyes skipping from face to face—a mere glance at one, a longer glance at another, a close stare at a third. Perhaps, at the back of his mind, there was the hope that some incredible good-fortune might send past this corner a shrunken, white-haired man, leaning on the arm of his dark-haired daughter....

The opening of the door behind him broke into his thoughts, and he turned to find that the manager had brought another man back with him.

"This is the clerk who received the money," said the manager, and returned the seven notes to the detective.

LÉpine motioned the clerk to be seated, and himself sat down facing him.

"Tell me all that you remember of the transaction," he said.

"It was Tuesday afternoon, sir," the clerk began, "about four o'clock, I should say, that a man came to the counter and stated that he desired a stateroom, with two berths, second-class, for the Prinzsessin Ottilie, the sailing of yesterday."

"What sort of a man?" asked LÉpine.

"A thin man, past middle-age. His hair was quite grey and he was of a dark complexion, with very bright eyes."

"What language did he use?"

"He spoke in English, sir."

"Fluently?"

"Quite fluently, sir."

"Very well; proceed."

"I was in some doubt as to whether such a stateroom was available, as this is the busy season; but on reference to our list, I found that there was such a stateroom. A customer to whom we had sold it had just called at the office, saying that he would not be able to sail, and leaving his tickets with us to resell, if possible. When I told the man of this, he seemed very pleased, took the tickets, and gave me the seven hundred-franc notes. My attention was called to them because they were quite new and unfolded. He took them from a long envelope which he carried in an inner pocket, and which seemed to contain a large sum of money."

"Do you remember the number of the stateroom?"

The clerk spread out before LÉpine a cabin-plan of the ship."It was this one, sir," he said, and placed his finger on 514; "an inner room, you see, on the upper deck."

"You asked the man's name, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I caused him to fill out the usual blank. Here it is."

LÉpine took the blank and looked it over. It stated that stateroom No. 514, on the Prinzsessin Ottilie, for the sailing of September 27, two berths, second-class, had been purchased of Thomas Cook & Son by Ignace Vard, of New York City, the berths to be used by himself and his daughter; and that he had paid for these berths the sum of six hundred and forty francs, being payment in full, the receipt of which was acknowledged. The blank also stated that Mr. Vard was a naturalised citizen of the United States, and had lived in that country for ten years.

"The sailing was from Cherbourg?" LÉpine inquired, when he had assimilated all this.

"Yes, sir."

"At what hour?"

"About four o'clock, sir—four o'clock yesterday afternoon."

"How did it happen, sir," LÉpine asked, turning to the manager, "that the notes were not deposited until yesterday?"

"Our deposit is made up at three o'clock each afternoon," the manager explained. "The notes came in too late for Tuesday's deposit, and were placed in our safe until the next day."

LÉpine made a brief entry in his notebook, handed back the blank and rose.

"I thank you very much, gentlemen," he said. "You have been most obliging. The information you have given me will be of the very greatest service."

And with that he took his leave, returned light-heartedly to his office and sent a wireless to the captain of the Ottilie. The fugitive could not escape him now; it was merely a question of arresting him as he left the boat at New York; soon, soon, LÉpine would have the pleasure of putting him on the grill, and, once there, the detective felt sure that there would be some important revelations before he got off again. One fact surprised him—that Vard should be an American citizen; but perhaps that was not the truth. If it was the truth, it would make the arrest at New York a little awkward; a formal complaint would have to be made, a charge of some kind trumped up. But there was no hurry—a week remained in which to mature the plans.

So LÉpine, after sending a brief report in cipher to M. DelcassÉ, turned to the work which had accumulated during his absence in a happier and more contented frame of mind than he had enjoyed for some days."I shall relish my lunch to-day!" he reflected; but, alas! it was just as he was preparing to sally forth for it that the blow fell.

"A message for you, sir," his secretary said, and handed him a light-blue envelope.

"Ah!" said LÉpine, "a wireless!" and he ripped it open eagerly. Then he remained staring at it with astounded eyes. Here is the message: