had been here, and with that devilish spirit of revenge to
which Rachel alluded, he had killed his own child. I took the chief of
the police to one side, and asked him if he knew Flavio.

"Well," he replied. "I was one of the band who were sent in pursuit of
him for two or three months. We fell in with him several times, but
never were able to take him."

"You had better inquire about him," I said; "for I strongly suspect him
of having committed this murder."

He took my suggestion, and it appeared that a man, precisely resembling
Flavio, had been seen leaving the house at the time of the murder. When
once suspicion was directed into the right channel, numerous
corroborative circumstances were cited. It appeared that Flavio came
constantly to see the child: the only strange part of the case was that
he appeared very fond of it, and as tender and considerate towards it as
a man of his brutal nature could be. There clearly must have been some
ground for this sudden and unprovoked attack,--if, indeed, he committed
it; after exhausting every possible motive, we could not arrive at any
definite conclusion.

After a while the horror of the spectacle grew upon me: it presented
itself no longer as a picture to my imagination, but as a fearful fact.
The crowd of people who forced their way into the room--the blasphemous
and terrible expressions--the coarse jokes--the vulgar, obscene
language--the poor child, not fashioned tenderly, but lying like a
confused mass of clothes and gore upon the floor, perfectly sickened my
heart. And when I thought that I could not be of any further use, I was
too happy to turn away.

I returned home, but could not sleep. All the events of the day crowded
upon my mind. My dream had been dreamt before I laid my head upon the
pillow: it now filled my brain like a horrible vision. I rose early,
wearied with restlessness, and went immediately in search of M. Narelli.
To my great surprise I found that he was up, and in close communication
with the chief of the police, whom I had seen on the preceding night at
the poor child's room. I was immediately shown into his office, and I
observed that his countenance betrayed an anxiety and annoyance unusual
in persons of his nature under any circumstances.

I was beginning to tell him my story, when he interrupted me.

"My dear sir," he said, "pardon me, but we have no time to lose, and I
know it all. A murder has been committed, and there is no question