he obtained regular
employment, only to be recognized and then discharged. Sometimes, he
had an idea that men were following him--detectives, no doubt, who were
seeking to trap and denounce him. He could almost feel the strong hand
of the law clutching him by the collar.

One evening, as he was eating his dinner at a neighboring restaurant,
a man entered and took a seat at the same table. He was a person about
forty years of age, and wore a frock-coat of doubtful cleanliness. He
ordered soup, vegetables, and a bottle of wine. After he had finished
his soup, he turned his eyes on Danegre, and gazed at him intently.
Danegre winced. He was certain that this was one of the men who had
been following him for several weeks. What did he want? Danegre tried
to rise, but failed. His limbs refused to support him. The man poured
himself a glass of wine, and then filled Danegre's glass. The man raised
his glass, and said:

"To your health, Victor Danegre."

Victor started in alarm, and stammered:

"I!....I!.... no, no....I swear to you...."

"You will swear what? That you are not yourself? The servant of the
countess?"

"What servant? My name is Dufour. Ask the proprietor."

"Yes, Anatole Dufour to the proprietor of this restaurant, but Victor
Danegre to the officers of the law."

"That's not true! Some one has lied to you."

The new-comer took a card from his pocket and handed it to Victor, who
read on it: "Grimaudan, ex-inspector of the detective force. Private
business transacted." Victor shuddered as he said:

"You are connected with the police?"

"No, not now, but I have a liking for the business and I continue to
work at it in a manner more--profitable. From time to time I strike upon
a golden opportunity--such as your case presents."

"My case?"

"Yes, yours. I assure you it is a most promising affair, provided you
are inclined to be reasonable."

"But if I am not reasonable?"

"Oh! my good fellow, you are not in a position to refuse me anything I
may ask."

"What is it.... you want?" stammered Victor, fearfully.

"Well, I will inform you in a few words. I am sent by Mademoiselle de
Sincleves, the heiress of the Countess d'Andillot."

"What for?"

"To recover the black pearl."

"Black pearl?"

"That you stole."

"But I haven't got it."

"You have it."

"If I had, then I would be the assassin."

"You are the assassin."

Danegre showed a forced smile.

"Fortunately for me, monsieur, the A