Chapter III

ON reaching the Rue de Provènce, the Minister of War descended from his brougham with the eagerness of a young man, crossed the court-yard, entered the offices, and, in loud tones, asked the office boy—

“Is M. Baradier in?”

The office-boy instinctively stood at attention, and replied—“Yes, General; I will announce you at once.”

The Minister, with nervous steps, strode to and fro in the ante-chamber, behind whose windows the Havas despatches gave the current rates of all the Exchanges of Europe. Suddenly a door opened, and a stout man with ruddy complexion entered the room with outstretched arms.

“Ah, it is you, General! What trouble you have taken! Just step into this room.”

The Minister entered, and as soon as the door was closed he exclaimed—

“Ah, my poor friends! How sad it all is!”

“We cannot get over the shock, Baradier and I,” said Graff, rolling forward an armchair. “Take a seat, General.”

“Who has told you the news?”

“Baudoin, who was sleeping here last night, and came in terrified this afternoon with the dismal tidings. What has happened down there? The whole circumstances are even more serious than the disaster itself. Graff and I have been questioning and discussing with one another, without succeeding in settling the frightful problem.”

“If only Marcel were here!” moaned Uncle Graff. “He would enlighten us. He is so well acquainted with Trémont’s life and habits, his weaknesses.”

“His weaknesses?” asked the Minister. “A woman? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, General.”

“You are taking the paltry side of the matter,” said the old soldier, firmly. “It is no question of a mere _passade_. The affair before us is far more than a paltry intrigue. The woman—yes, indeed, she has had a _rôle_ to play. But she has only been the agent, perhaps unwittingly, of an attempt, carefully thought out and boldly executed.”

“With what object?” asked Baradier. “Tell me everything, General. Let us communicate our suspicions to one another, in an attempt to throw light on the affair.”

“Ah! It is evident that the object of the attack was the discoveries made by Trémont. In this abominable plot, which has ended in the murder of a man we loved, a remarkable _savant_, I see—but do not let this go beyond the three of us here present—the hand of the foreigner.”

There was a moment’s silence. Baradier and Graff looked at one another, uneasily, and as though undecided. But the impetuous Baradier could not long keep to himself the idea working in his brain.

“We, too, General, seem to recognize in the blow which has fallen on our friend some hateful intention against him and against ourselves at once.”

“Baradier,” intervened Graff, “you are going too fast and too far! How can you risk such a charge, on suppositions alone?”

“Ah! You still hesitate!” exclaimed Baradier. “You are still bound down by scruples! The deuce! I feel there is treason and infamy in all this! I—Let me continue! I would swear that Lichtenbach is at the bottom of it all!”

“You have no right to speak in that way!” exclaimed Graff, rising to his feet and quivering with emotion. “How can you insinuate that a man against whom nothing can be said from either a professional or a moral point of view, is a party to a crime, simply because he is our enemy? It is abominable! We must give some place to justice!”

Baradier, boiling over with excitement, rose in his turn, and began to walk to and fro, speaking in snatches.

“For the last two hours, General, we have been disputing in this way, Graff and myself, and the only reply he can give me is that I am not just! As though that were a matter of concern when an imperious instinct cries out to you: ‘There is the culprit. He is not seen; he is well masked, cunningly concealed, and appears in nothing.’ Probably he will not be found out, but it is he all the same who has done the deed, because it was to his interest and hatred combined to do it! No! With his justice, humanity, and philanthropy, you can have no idea how stupid Graff is, at times!”

In spite of the gravity of the situation, the three friends burst into a loud laugh, and Graff, bending forward his great body, exclaimed—

“Thanks!”

The Minister then intervened to give a little order to the debate.

“Come, Baradier, explain yourself. As your brother-in-law says, vague presentiments are not sufficient to establish an accusation. Presumptions lead to investigations, and if guilt results from information obtained, then one may proceed. Besides, I will observe to you that the authorities have been notified, an examination has been commenced, and if you have proofs to furnish—”

“Impossible!” interrupted Baradier. “To you I have been telling my inmost thoughts; to an examining magistrate I would not repeat what I have just said.”

“Ah!” triumphed Graff; “what did I tell you?”

“For me to quit my reserve, such discoveries ought to be brought to light, that the proofs—moral as they are—upon which I lean, should have material coincidences. But do not think I am retreating. I will make inquiries, and if I find—”

“You will not find anything. If your suspicions are true, we have to deal with those who are stronger than ourselves.”

“We shall see about that!”

The General intervened again.

“Is this Lichtenbach, of whom you speak, the great merchant-prince who is allied with the clerico-royalist party?”

“Yes, the same man.”

“And you imagine him capable of a crime?”

“I believe he is capable of anything.”

“Doubtless you know that he is very influential with the Ministry, and obtains whatever he wishes.”

“He is very powerful everywhere; his arms stretch in all directions.”

“But what interest would he have in trying to circumvent Trémont, in the first place, and, afterwards, in bringing about his disappearance?”

“Well, General, what do you think of the investigations into explosives? Lichtenbach is at the head of the French syndicate of mining exploitations. In Russia, Austria, and Spain, he has considerable interests. Now, in the composition of a powder, easy to control in results, capable of being handled without harm, and of very moderate cost—and all these advantages were claimed by the Trémont powder, as was seen from the report read by the General, at the Academy of Science, six months ago—was there not something to tempt the covetousness of business men, ever on the look-out for progressive and remunerative processes? Trémont had received splendid offers, but had always refused even the initial overtures. Then he explained to Graff and myself his intention of promoting a company, the working of which should be exclusively French. It was a point of honour with him that his own country should profit from his discovery.”

“The fine fellow! Just like him!”

“He was well aware that he had found an opportunity of making a fortune, but he did not wish foreign money to have a hand in it. Besides, at the same time, he had almost completed his investigations into a new war-powder. He would not throw the commercial affair on the market until he had given his new explosive to the Government. He said to us: ‘Both powders at once. The one that will make me rich, and the one that will make us conquerors. In this way I shall be pardoned for the benefits I shall reap from the first, in favour of the prestige the second will give our Army.’”

“Yes; secret experiments had already taken place with his war-powder. Never had my colleagues or myself seen such destructive effects. Nothing could have resisted an artillery firing projectiles charged with this powder! And the secret has vanished in smoke! It is a great misfortune for France!”

A strange smile passed over Graff’s mouth, and, with a gesture of dissent, he said—

“Ah! Who knows?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, it is not absolutely certain that the secret is lost! Perhaps some one possesses the General’s formulæ in duplicate.”

“Who?” exclaimed the Minister.

Graff rubbed his hands together and replied—

“My nephew!”

“Marcel? Has he said anything to you?”

“Yes. A week ago.”

At these words Baradier turned pale. Turning to his brother-in-law, with a look of anguish, he exclaimed—

“Never let the slightest suspicion of this be known! Repeat to no one what you have just said! They have killed Trémont! Do you want them to kill my son?”

“Ah! Baradier, have you no courage left?” asked the General. “You are afraid of your shadow now. Do you imagine that, if your hypothesis be true, and I am much inclined to share it, those who have dealt the blow will be disposed to recommence without delay? We have time to act, and we are warned. Why the deuce should we be afraid? Just now, the authors of the crime have carefully gone to earth, for they can have no doubt that the police are on the look-out for them. Do not be alarmed, and let us speak frankly.”

“My dear General, if the possession of the secret of the powders has been fatal to Trémont, whom they thought simply of robbing, what is not to be feared for Marcel Baradier, if this terrible intrigue is conducted by the implacable enemy of all his family? They would have spared Trémont’s life, could they have obtained possession of his formulæ. Marcel can expect no pity, for it is Graff and myself—it is his own mother whom they will reach in striking him.”

“We shall be there to defend him,” said Graff, in trembling tones. “I am not an evil-disposed person, but still I feel myself capable of the utmost ferocity in preventing any harm befalling my nephew!”

“You understand,” said the General, “that if the police have no clue to your suspicions, I will take it upon myself to inform them.”

“It would be wiser not to do anything of the sort,” interrupted Baradier. “If, as we imagine, it is Lichtenbach who has directed the frightful plot, you may be certain beforehand that it will not be brought to light. Both he and his accomplices are free from all responsibility. The woman who appears to have acted as a decoy will have disappeared. The man whose arm has been torn off will be carefully attended to in some dark spot, perhaps abroad, and the coachman who accompanied the accomplices to Vanves is a trusted member of the band. Nothing will be discovered, you may be sure. The examining magistrate may prepare at once to shelve the whole affair.”

“I think as you do. But that is no reason for not making investigations. In the first place, if Lichtenbach is watched, perhaps some proof will be discovered. But all that concerns the police. We will change the subject. General de Trémont has left an only daughter, without support.”

“I beg your pardon, General. We will console her and pay her all possible attention.”

“Yes, my dear friend, I know the poor child may rely upon you. But she is without fortune. Trémont left very little property; his pension was almost all that he had.”

“Reassure yourself. She shall never lack anything. This very morning my wife went to her to the Sacre-Coeur, and brought her here. She shall stay with my daughter and be treated as though she bore my own name.”

“All the same, I will obtain for her a pension from the Ministry.”

“Certainly, if you wish; but it will simply be to ease your conscience. She will have every want fulfilled. I take charge of her as though she were my child.”

“Can I not speak to her? Is she in a fit state to receive me?”

“She is in great grief, but very calm. Graff will tell her that you are here.”

The uncle left the room. Baradier drew his chair nearer the General’s, as though afraid the walls would hear what he was about to say.

“Between you and myself—for Graff is too sentimental—is this a matter that concerns other countries?”

“How can we tell, so long as we have not laid our hands on the culprits? Even if they are found, how can we throw light on that question? We can never hope for absolute certainty in this respect, as foreign agents always keep themselves aloof from direct responsibility, and disclaim all connection with abroad, if they are caught. We shall never get beyond probabilities. Our artillery material and explosives are at present, and will long remain, a matter of anxiety to rival Powers. Our armaments are well known, though our projectiles are continually being perfected. It is certain that the artillery which made use of the Trémont powder would have had an overwhelming advantage. Hence the attempt against the inventor, evidently.”

“So you attach a great value to the formulæ discovered by the General?”

“A very great value. Its possession would render our country an immense service.”

Baradier became serious. Bowing his head, he continued resolutely—

“I am a good patriot, General. I fought for France to the very last hour of the war. All the Baradier family, Lorraines from Metz, went into voluntary exile so as not to live in the midst of our conquerors. If my country needed my life, I would not hesitate to give it up. I will do more, I will risk my son’s life. If Marcel knows Trémont’s secret, I give you my oath you shall have the powder.”

A flash of joy shone in the old soldier’s eyes. Stretching out his hand to Baradier, he exclaimed, in trembling tones—“Thank you. You are a brave soldier.”

At this moment the door opened, and the General gave a sonorous hum, and regained his composure. Madame Baradier and Mademoiselle de Trémont entered the room, followed by Graff. Still slender and graceful, Madame Baradier now showed a few silver threads among the beautiful blonde tresses of her youth. But her frank look and smiling lips revealed the young girl beloved of Elias Lichtenbach. Mademoiselle de Trémont, wearing a blue convent dress, slender and dark-complexioned, showed in her countenance, overwhelmed with grief, the charming grace of her sixteen years. Without the slightest awkwardness or hesitation, she walked straight to her father’s friend. At the first words the old soldier addressed her, however, her eyes filled with tears, which silently flowed unheeded down her cheeks. She listened with eager satisfaction to the consoling words of praise, consecrated to him who had just disappeared, and the silent nod she gave from time to time seemed an acquiescence of resignation and grief, in the bitterness of life now beginning for her.

Alas! she had scarcely known her father. A widower very soon after the birth of his daughter, he had been obliged to entrust her to the care of pious and devout women. She had scarcely ever tasted of the delights of home. Geneviève often tried, in vain, to recall the sound of her mother’s voice. How sad it was! She had never felt on her heart the caressing warmth of an ever-present affection. Isolation, in the midst of strangers, kind and benevolent though they were, had been her lot, right to the day on which death had broken the slender bond which still attached her to her father. And now what a sorrowful end, in this catastrophe, at once stupefying and terrible, which left her an orphan, and filled her mind with thoughts of violence and massacre!

She had not even the supreme consolation of thinking that the one she mourned had had a calm and peaceful death. As a soldier, he had not fallen on the field of battle; as a _savant_, he had not succumbed, a victim to his investigations. In a base and cowardly fashion, he had been assassinated by bandits. She heard the Minister telling her that she might rely on his protection. Stammering out her thanks, and blinded by tears, she left the room with Madame Baradier, almost heart-broken at being made to understand more vividly, from the expressions of condolence addressed to her, the extent of her loss.

The Minister, on leaving the room in his turn, found General de Trémont’s servant awaiting him in the antechamber. He looked with interest at the latter’s intelligent and energetic countenance.

“Well, my poor Baudoin, this is a great loss for us.”

“It is a great crime, General.”

“They had sent you away, my good fellow; but for that, all this would not have happened.”

“Ah, General, it is always the fair sex who ruin everything!”

“Come, come! Don’t say anything more on the subject.”

“Pardon me, General. I do not mention it from lack of deference for my poor master, but if attempts are not made to find the scoundrel, the woman who controlled the whole affair, nothing will be discovered, and my master will remain unavenged.”

“Do you know the woman?”

“Ah! If I had known her, I, too, should have been dead!”

Baradier, Graff, and the Minister looked at one another. What Baudoin had just said was so clear a confirmation of Baradier’s fears, concerning his son, that the threatening power of the mysterious woman instantly forced itself on the Minister’s thoughts. He was already so well acquainted personally, and through his predecessors, with these fortune-hunters, always in quest of a speculation or intrigue to work out, or a secret to be stolen, from the sellers of crosses of honour, to searchers of official desks. He could have named several of them. And the experience of the past: all these acts of imprudence and folly, were there to prove the truth of what the simple and devoted Baudoin now said. The Minister continued—

“I heard her voice, General, last night, and I will warrant that if she uttered a word in my hearing, I should recognize it.”

“Ah, a voice, my poor fellow, a voice heard for a single moment, uttering a few sentences only. How could one dare to accuse another on such feeble evidence? Do you know, there are voices so similar that one may be mistaken, even when one is familiar with their owners. If you have no other proof to give, my poor Baudoin, you had better say nothing at all.”

“We shall see, General.”

“Ah, you are obstinate!”

“A little, General.”

“Well, well! What can I do for you? You have been a good soldier, and a devoted servant. I imagine your master would have recommended me not to abandon you. Would you like to enter the office of the Ministry?”

“Thank you, General. M. Baradier has offered to take me into his office, and I have accepted. But if you would be good enough to—”

“Well, speak!”

“Could you please tell me the name of the Ministerial agent who has been conducting the investigations? He seemed to me a very intelligent man, and I should like to speak to him.”

“His name is Laforêt. But keep the name to yourself. I have sufficient confidence to mention it to you; still, it must not be generally known.”

“You may rely on my discretion, General. I will say nothing.”

“Well, good day!”

The Minister shook hands with Baradier and Graff, and rode away in his brougham. When the two partners returned into the hall, Baudoin, to whom they wished to speak, had disappeared.

As soon as he learnt the agent’s name, Baudoin had taken his hat, and, leaving the hotel by the servants’ exit, had made his way to the Ministry. On reaching the entrance he made inquiries. Being an old soldier, he knew how to speak to soldiers. The orderly he met in the hall pointed out to him the building he wished to enter, right at the end of the court, staircase C. There the porter had stopped him; no one could enter without authorization. He had none; he must accordingly ask for one.

“I simply wanted to speak to M. Laforêt.”

The porter looked at him with suspicion. Then he said—

“M. Laforêt? You will not find him at the Ministry, call at his private residence.”

“Where is that?”

“You must inquire.”

It was quite evident there was nothing to be gained here. Bowing, he thanked the porter and took his departure. In the Rue Saint-Dominique, at the corner of the Rue Martignac, he noticed a small café. He entered with the object of making inquiries, as the porter had recommended. Four customers, under the complaisant eye of the proprietor, were playing at cards. At the far end was a room, containing a billiard-table. The players could be seen, though indistinctly, each time they passed before the door. There appeared to be spectators present. Probably a pool was being contested.

“A bock. Is there a billiard academy here?”

“Ah, sir, we have some very fine players. Some of these gentlemen from the Ministry come every evening. M. Trousset, the head clerk, though an amateur, would be a match for the best players in Paris, and even from abroad!”

“Indeed! And may one watch the game?”

“If you wish, sir, I will carry the beer into the next room.”

Baudoin had already entered the billiard-room, which contained two tables. Taking a seat, he looked on. One of the players was a stout, jovial fellow, who accompanied his cannons with stale jokes. The other, a tall, thin dark-complexioned man, was Laforêt himself. Baudoin gave himself a slap on the thigh, took out a cigarette, and exclaimed to the astonishment of his neighbour—

“I am lucky this time!”

As he was looked at inquisitively, he said no more, but lit a cigarette, and began to sip his beer. The stout player said to his opponent, with a wink—

“The balls are in the corner; now for the final!”

Whereupon he made a series of seventeen cannons, and missed the eighteenth. Laforêt, without being disconcerted, took up the cue, but only scored five points. His adversary exclaimed—

“If I score fifteen now, I win the set.”

He won without the slightest effort, turned down his shirt-sleeves, put on his coat, and, holding out his hand to his opponent, said:

“No ill feeling?”

“None at all. You have played very well, M. Moussin,” said Laforêt. “My revenge next time.”

“Whenever you like.”

Laforêt, with perfect indifference, approached Baudoin, exclaiming in loud tones—

“Waiter, a bitter.”

Then, turning towards the General’s servant, he asked—

“Are you waiting for me?”

“Yes; so you recognized me?”

“That is my business. Anything fresh?”

“No; all the same, I wish to speak to you.”

“Good!”

The few loiterers gradually filed out into the other room, which was lighter and more pleasant in appearance. A few players alone remained, and Baudoin and Laforêt found themselves isolated.

“You may speak here, no one will pay any attention to us.”

“Well! This morning, when I saw you, in the presence of all the others, I had an impression that you were a man to be relied upon, and that, in case it were necessary to appeal to any one concerning something difficult or dangerous, one would run no risk with you of being left in the lurch. Am I mistaken?”

“No.”

“If I think rightly, you do not work under the same conditions as the agents in the service of the Prefecture, who are entirely allied to the Administration. You are, I suppose, a kind of volunteer of the police, at liberty to give information as you please, consequently free as regards initiative.”

Laforêt interrupted him.

“If you wish to speak to me on the Vanves affair, I must stop you at once. My principal ordered me not to take any further steps in the matter for the moment. The Public Prosecutor is in possession of the information. Every one to his own department. We shall not take up the matter again, provisionally.”

“But if I simply asked you to enlighten me on certain points?”

“One can always give advice.”

“Good! The police are about to make a search for the authors of the crime of which my master has been the victim. But I, also, should like to investigate.”

“There is no one to prevent you.”

“Ah! One must know how to go about it. One does not become a detective by instinct. Which end shall I begin with, to unravel the skein?”

“Come! Had your master any family?”

“A daughter.”

“She had no interest in wishing to be rid of him?”

“Not the slightest.”

“Had he any visitors?”

“Very few; he was so distrustful! The woman who called on him only came mysteriously by night, on which occasions he always sent me away.”

“That is the same woman who came last night?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if M. de Trémont had any enemies?”

“No.”

“Was there any one who had reasons for injuring him?”

“In a certain sense, yes.”

“Why do you suspect this?”

“I judge from personal observation, confirmed by the conviction of one of my master’s friends.”

“A man who can offer good guarantees?”

“Perfect.”

“Very good! Search must be made in that direction.”

“If only you knew what difficulties I am likely to meet with.”

“That is the most interesting part about it. It is not very clever to arrest a coal-dealer who has been thrashing his wife in his shop, or a hair-dresser who has cut his lady’s throat with one of his razors! What excites one is the struggle and pursuit, the necessity of employing trickery and invention. We are men of imagination, and novelists often make us laugh by the poverty of their combinations.”

“That is because you like your profession. It is not so with me; I am not inquisitive. Were I not mad with grief at seeing my master, whom I was so fond of basely murdered, I should take good care not to meddle with other people’s affairs. But vengeance seems a kind of duty my master would impose on me, could he do so. Had he had time to think, the moment he was struck, he must have said to himself: ‘Ah! If only Baudoin were here he would defend me with his last breath.’ You see, I must find his murderers. I shall have no rest till I have succeeded in this pursuit.”

Laforêt had become thoughtful. After a moment’s hesitation, he said—

“You are a brave fellow. But you do not possess the qualities necessary for the unravelling of an affair like this one. You will spoil everything by putting on their guard the very people you suspect. Do not stir; just wait. Patience is the first duty of a detective. Time is a precious auxiliary. At first, a criminal is very cautious; he takes every precaution. By degrees, as his feeling of security increases, his prudence lessens, he trusts himself out of his lair once more, and it is then that there is a good chance of catching him. Instead of undertaking a campaign, remain inactive. If you have to deal with powerful and determined men, be sure they will keep a watch on you, in proportion to their unwillingness to be caught. You will do more for the success of your side by giving them to believe that you do not suspect them, than by plotting against them, without knowing how to out-trick them. Go back home, warn those who, like you, wish to avenge the General, and wait and see the trend of events. Be sure something will happen which will put you on their track. Then go ahead boldly. If ever you need me, come here about five o’clock. You will find me regularly at this hour. My principal may be disposed to allow me to co-operate with you.”

Baudoin rose from his seat.

“Very good. I will follow your advice. If you have anything to tell me, send to Messieurs Baradier and Graff.”

“The bankers of the Rue de Provènce?”

“Yes.”

“Strange! My principal has just gone to see them, on leaving the Ministry. I heard it from the coachman. Good! Everything will turn out for the best, when the right moment comes. _Au revoir_!”

The two men shook hands, and Baudoin returned home.

Marcel, summoned by wire, had just returned from Ars. He was closeted with his father and uncle. Walking to and fro about the room, he gave brief replies to the questions asked him. Tall and slender, of fair complexion, with long moustache, and blue eyes, he offered a perfect pattern of the Lorraine type, in its full purity and strength. He was a very fine-looking young fellow, and his Uncle Graff watched him with a glow of pride and satisfaction.

“Well, then, what did Trémont tell you, the last time you saw him?”

“From a scientific point of view, we spoke of nothing but my investigations on the subject of aniline.”

“Nothing concerning his powders?”

“He had already told me the results he had reached. I shared his opinion that the main difficulty was solved. In the composition of explosives there was nothing more to do besides introducing a few details of manipulation.”

“And you knew his formulæ?”

“I know every one of them.”

“You could prepare them?”

“Without the slightest difficulty.”

“That is what I was afraid of,” exclaimed Baradier, sorrowfully.

“What! Afraid of? But it is very lucky for us all. For Geneviève, for whom a fortune is assured; for the Army, which will possess the Trémont powder; and for the General’s memory, by reason of the glory attaching to so important a discovery.”

“Well, Marcel, I beg of you,” said Baradier, in trembling tones, “for the sake of us all, for the time being, not to breathe a word to any one concerning what you have just revealed to us. It is a matter of life or death. So long as those who have killed Trémont remain at large, and unpunished, there will be no safety for those who might be suspected of being in possession of his scientific secret. It was to rob him of this that the blow fell. In Heaven’s name, be very careful not to let it be known that you have been taken into the confidence of our friend.”

“Do not be uneasy,” said the young man, with a smile. “No one in the world knows, except my uncle and yourself. I feel no inclination to proclaim it on the housetops. But I cannot refuse to refrain from profiting by it, when the right time comes, even though there may be risks to run.”

“Nor do we. But let us continue our investigations. Trémont was very free with you. He spoke to you of his private life. He told you of his adventures in the early days of his military career.”

“Poor man! That was his only weakness. His heart remained as young as ever. His imagination was very inflammable, and he gave way to it with unparalleled facility. I was often obliged to stop him.”

“Did he mention nothing that had happened recently?”

“No; he appeared preoccupied and less expansive than usual. Probably he had been recommended to be very discreet, and his promise had been given. I must say that his passion for the fair sex rather disgusted me, and I gave no encouragement to tales which appeared to me unworthy of our friend’s noble mind. Latterly, therefore, finding him reserved and quiet, I did not encourage him to speak. I preferred him to say nothing on the subject.”

“What a pity! Just the time when his explanations would have been so useful.”

“It is always so!”

“Had he made no fresh male acquaintances? Was there no name you could catch?”

“He spoke to me of no one except a foreign savant, with whom he had struck up a friendship, and who seems to have been an extraordinary man. He suspected him of being a nihilist, and that worried him. But he spoke of him with the utmost admiration.”

“Was he a Russian?”

“I do not know. His name was Hans.”

“Hans!” exclaimed Baradier. “That was the name of the man whose arm was torn off! It is the name on the ring worn by the man who caused the explosion of the house at Vanves. This is the first flash of light.”

“So the General was acquainted with this Hans? Still, Hans is a German name!”

“Only a German Christian name. As you are aware, there are several Russians of German origin. If the Hans in question is the author of that catastrophe, the end he aimed at by obtaining access to the General might well be the possession of the formulæ of the explosive found by him. But then, how had he become acquainted with the discoveries the General kept strictly secret?”

Graff, who had not yet spoken, but had been listening in a reverie to the observations exchanged between his brother-in-law and his nephew, raised his hand, and slowly began, as though following the slender thread of a still fugitive idea—

“You are getting lost. The motives of the instigators of this crime—for, certainly, there are several of them—are of a much higher order than you imagine. You are looking for robbers trying to obtain possession of some exceedingly fruitful discovery, or of anarchists on the scent of some powerful means of extermination. All this is very vulgar and commonplace. You have to deal with criminals of a higher stamp. The care they took to rob Trémont after killing him prove that his murderers wished to throw one off the scent. When one has a house to pillage, he does not linger behind to steal a watch or a pocket-book. The mysterious proceedings of those who effected the _coup_ are those of political conspirators, and the thing that gives the whole plot its special character is the presence of a woman. Every undertaking of interest to foreign politics, for the past century, has been carried on by women. From my point of view, this is in a large measure what must have taken place. One or several European States have been acquainted with the investigations carried on by Trémont. His communications to the Institute may have sufficed to give the alarm. Immediately, means have been sought for becoming intimate with him, or obtaining his confidence. Our friend’s nature has been studied, and a young woman, clever and beautiful, has been fastened on him, soon to serve as intermediary between the General and Hans. The latter is no Russian, but probably some native of Baden. The woman is a spy in the service of our enemies. The man, introduced into the premises by the woman, failed in his attempts to obtain, by trickery, Trémont’s secrets; accordingly he had recourse to violence. Be certain the whole _coup_ was entered upon for interests far higher than you imagine. You see a Lichtenbach in the affair, and imagine that it is in his interests that Hans and the mysterious woman have been playing each a perilous game. You attach to him more importance than he deserves. You must seek higher, or rather not seek at all, for nothing will be found now.”

“I cannot deny,” replied Baradier, “that Graff’s explanation possesses some semblance of likelihood. Graff is a man of imagination, who often sees things that do not exist. Still, in the present circumstances, he would be a bold man who would say that he was mistaken. Perhaps his supposition and mine both contain part of the truth. What cannot be doubted is that the authors of this audacious plot are persons who will shrink before nothing. Accordingly we must be prudent, and not appear to suspect them, living in just our usual manner. Apparently we must abstain from all participation in the work of justice. If the police succeed we shall be satisfied, without having been involved in the affair. If they find nothing, as is very likely, then our turn will come. In my opinion clever and cool-headed criminals it is almost impossible to run to ground. It is only by their imprudence that they betray themselves. It is when they begin to be no longer on their guard that there is a chance of finding some clue to their guilt. So, after all, the most prudent and skilful plan will be to wait. Marcel will return to Ars—”

“Not until I have seen Geneviève.”

“Of course, you will dine and sleep here, and take the train to-morrow morning. Your mother and uncle will not be sorry to see a little of you.”

“And my father?” asked the young man, smiling.

“And your father. Now come along with me to see your mother. Graff, you are staying in the office?”

“For a few minutes. Then I return home, but will be back in time for dinner.”

Proceeding along an inner staircase, father and son reached the private rooms, and were astonished to find in the hall a tall footman waiting there.

“Your mother has visitors,” said Baradier. “How has that come about; to-day is not her reception day?”

They entered Madame Baradier’s small salon. There she sat, pensive, near the window, her needlework lying idly in her lap.

“What! You here?” said Baradier. “I thought you were receiving.”

“The visit is not for me.”

“What is the meaning of this? No one can have called for Amélie. Then it must be for Mademoiselle de Trémont?”

“You are right,” said Madame Baradier.

“What is the matter with you?” asked the banker. “There is something extraordinary going on. Explain.”

“It is, indeed, very extraordinary. It is a schoolmate of Geneviève, who has come especially from the convent to assure her of her sympathy and affection; a trusted servant came with her, since her father could not come in person.”

Baradier’s face turned crimson, as he asked with a frown—

“Then it is—?”

His wife did not give him time to continue. They understood one another at a glance.

“Yes, my dear, it is Mademoiselle Lichtenbach.”

A silence fell throughout the room. Marcel had gone straight to his mother, to embrace her. He now stood looking at his father, who, standing before the mantelpiece, was endeavouring to fathom the meaning of this unexpected visit.

“What is she like?” asked Marcel.

“I scarcely looked at her, I must confess, my child. When her name was announced I was very much astonished. Amélie and Geneviève were with me at the time. I left them in the salon as soon as Mademoiselle Lichtenbach entered. She appeared to me to be tall, and rather good looking. It was, however, her voice, a sweet, charming voice, which impressed me most favourably.”

“It is different from her father’s, then,” growled Baradier.

“And how long has she been here?”

“Half an hour, at least.”

“And my sister is with them?”

“She could not help staying with them, otherwise it would have been a show of hostility quite out of place. Parents’ enmities, I hope, form no necessary part of children’s inheritances.”

“Mother, what you are now saying is contrary to all poetical tradition. Look at Romeo and Juliet. What would become of literature were there no hereditary enmities? They form part and parcel of romantic stock-in-trade. The deuce! We must not diminish it, as it is becoming less and less quite fast enough!”

Baradier was not listening to his son; he remained still plunged in his own reflections. At last he murmured—

“What has she come for? Why has Lichtenbach permitted her to come?”

“Shall I go and ask her?” asked Marcel.

“Try to be serious, Marcel,” exclaimed the banker. “This is no matter for jest.”

“Oh, I know that well enough. I wonder what it is that upsets you so much? Here is my mother as pale as death, and yourself in a fever-heat, and all because a young girl has come to sympathize with her school-mate! There is something extraordinary going on.”

Baradier glanced sideways at his son, and replied in a tone of irritation—

“Don’t be such a fool, Marcel. You are incapable of understanding!”

Marcel bowed, in mock humility.

“Thanks! What do I owe you for that?”

But Baradier had no time to give way to his increasing irritation. The door of the salon opened, and Amélie appeared on the threshold.

“Mamma, Mademoiselle Lichtenbach would like to say good-bye to you before leaving.”

“She seems to be very well bred,” said Marcel, in low tones. “Are you going, mother? I will accompany you. I should like to see what she looks like.”

It was in vain that Baradier shouted to his son—

“Marcel, stay here; I forbid you!”

Already the young man, with a laugh, had slipped behind his mother into the salon.

“The young rascal will never have any common sense,” moaned Baradier. And he sat down in the seat his wife had just left, vaguely listening to the sound of voices, which now reached him.

At the very first glance Marcel Baradier noticed that Mademoiselle Lichtenbach was of a very elegant figure, with a countenance of great gentleness. On further examination he did not find her pretty. Her features were irregular, but her face was lit up by eyes of limpid blue, radiant with frankness and amiability. She was standing there, an upright and slender form, in her sombre school-dress, with the blue ribbon on her breast. On Madame Baradier introducing Marcel to her she made a respectful bow, and said in delightful accents—

“I could not take my leave, madame, without thanking you for your kind welcome. Mademoiselle de Trémont and myself are very fond of one another. For a year we have been close companions, and I sympathize with her present suffering, as though her loss were also mine. It is a great relief to me, now that we are obliged to separate, to know that she will be with one who loves her. I hope you will permit her to speak to you of me, so that she may not forget me too soon, and, perhaps, instil into your mind a little of the sympathy her heart feels for me.”

Marcel was still under the charm of the voice that uttered these gentle words, when those clear, luminous eyes fell on him. He returned the look with an inquisitive and, perhaps, rather bold glance, for she immediately turned aside. At the same time a slight blush, as though accompanied with a shudder, passed over her smiling face, which suddenly became serious.

“I must thank you, mademoiselle, for the sentiments you express regarding our dear Geneviève. For ourselves,” continued Madame Baradier, “rest assured we shall not endeavour to influence her in her affections.”

Mademoiselle Lichtenbach bowed, gave a graceful nod to Amélie, and, on passing in front of Marcel, heard the latter say to her, in troubled tones—

“Permit me, mademoiselle, to show you the way.”

Opening the door of the salon, and, taking the mantle the young girl had left in the hall, he placed it over her shoulders. Then, walking by her side, his mother and sister looking on in stupefaction, he descended the steps, followed by the footman. On reaching the bottom he said, with a charm full of grace—

“Mademoiselle de Trémont’s departure will doubtless make your stay at the convent seem rather sad to you now, mademoiselle?”

“Yes. I hope Geneviève will not forget me, but come and see me.”

“After all, probably you will not stay long yourself at the Sacre-Coeur.”

“I was like Mademoiselle de Trémont, alone with my father. Geneviève will find a mother in Madame Baradier, whilst I—”

She left the sentence unfinished. Marcel, however, well understood the sadness of her meaning—“I shall remain abandoned, as I have been all my life. My youthful years will pass away behind the sad walls of a convent, under the cold, methodical surveillance of nuns, most excellent persons, but incapable of giving me that warmth of affection I need to be happy. My friend is leaving me, and all the sweetness of my life is past.”

She looked so melancholy and resigned that Marcel was moved with pity at her grief. They had now reached the brougham, the door of which was held open by the footman.

“No, mademoiselle,” said Marcel. “Rest assured Geneviève de Trémont will not forget you.”

He fastened his eyes on Mademoiselle Lichtenbach’s face, which now, in feature, seemed delicate and charming in its modest grace; then, bowing, he added, in lower tones—

“I do not think you are one of those whose fate it is to be forgotten.”

Mademoiselle Lichtenbach smiled and bowed. Then, entering the carriage, she said to the servant—

“Drive back home.”

Not another word was exchanged, whilst the footman climbed to his seat, and the coachman put the reins in order. Marcel, with head uncovered, stood there on the footpath in the Rue de Provènce, looking through the window of the brougham at this young girl, who appeared so simple and attractive to him, though he had never seen her until an hour before. Mademoiselle Lichtenbach sat there with bowed head, while a smile played on her lips. The carriage started, and the charm was broken.

On returning to the house Marcel reflected: If the father is a rogue, the daughter, at any rate, is a very charming person. After all, she is not responsible for her father’s misdeeds. But all this has nothing to do with me. In all probability we shall never meet again, so she may be what she likes. All the same, he could not get over the idea that Mademoiselle Lichtenbach, daughter of the declared enemy of Baradier and Graff, was a very striking character.

“Well,” said his father, who was awaiting his return, “you show yourself very polite. You could not be more gallant to a princess.”

“Probably not,” said the young man, calmly.

“Will you have the goodness to explain why you show yourself so obliging towards the daughter of our enemy?”

“For the sole reason that she is the daughter of our enemy.”

“It may be very chivalrous on your part, but to me it appears stupid.”

“Do you intend to introduce the fair sex into your quarrels?”

“I should like to see how Lichtenbach would treat your mother and sister if ever they fell into his power!”

“Let us hope we may never experience it. Still, Baradier and Graff are not obliged to act like Lichtenbach. Ask my uncle what he thinks about it.”

“Oh, your uncle is too sentimental. For the last hour I have been trying to find motives for this intervention. Evidently Lichtenbach wishes to throw us off the scent by this demonstration of affection for Mademoiselle de Trémont, but it is this very thing which awakens my suspicions. Do you know what Barentin, of the Supreme Court, told me lately? Not twenty-five per cent. of the criminals are ever discovered, and then only by their own folly. The rich calculate, and are almost sure of impunity.”

“My dear father, if the whole might of the law cannot seize a murderer, how can you expect Baradier and Graff to succeed? We must be sensible, and not attempt impossibilities. We will do the best we can—you by protecting Mademoiselle de Trémont, and I by assuring her the fortune her father promised her. For the rest let us trust in Providence.”

“In Providence!” growled Baradier. “Trust rather in the devil! Attend to what I tell you, Marcel. Your mother, yourself, and myself are all involved in the quarrel between Lichtenbach and your uncle. Lichtenbach is one of those revengeful _men_ who strike both their enemies and their enemies’ offspring. Trémont has met his fate; it will be our turn next.”

“No, father, our turn will never come,” said Marcel, energetically. “At the very first threat, the faintest attempt, I will go to Lichtenbach myself, and settle all our accounts with him at a single time. That I swear!”

Graff, clean shaven and elegantly attired, now entered the office. Baradier signed to his son to say no more, and all three mounted to the salon to join the ladies.