ch is in front of you: don't let it outdistance
you ... you shall have a good tip!"

The chauffeur, a young alert fellow, understood there was a chase in
question, and amused at the idea of pursuing a comrade through the
crowded streets of Paris, he set off. He adroitly cut through a file of
carriages and caught up taxi 4227 G.H. He then proceeded to follow
closely in its track.

Fandor, keen as a bloodhound on the scent, kept watch over their
progress to an unknown destination.

They rolled along the avenue de l'Opera: they cut across the rue de
Rivoli. Then, when they were going at a good pace through the place du
Carrousel, Fandor felt much moved by memories of past times, those days
of great and wonderful adventures, when he would follow this very route
to keep some exciting appointment with his good friend, Juve. How
frequent those appointments used to be, when the famous detective was
alive and so actively at work--the work of unearthing criminals--those
pests of society! Off Fandor used to set when the longed for summons
came, and would meet Juve in his little flat on the left side of the
Seine. Ah, those were times, indeed!

When a lad, Fandor had been practically adopted by the famous detective.
Young Jerome Fandor had served a kind of apprenticeship with Juve, and
this had brought him into close touch with the ups and downs of a number
of crime dramas: he and Juve together had even been the voluntary, or
involuntary, heroes of some of them! Then the tragic disappearance of
Juve had occurred, when Fandor had escaped death by a kind of miracle!

After that dreadful date, our journalist had found himself alone,
isolated, with not a soul to whom he cared to confide his perplexities,
his anxieties, his hopes! Fandor shuddered at the thought of this.

The taxi had just crossed the bridge des Sainte Peres, had followed the
quay for a few minutes, then rounding the Fine Arts School they entered
the old and narrow rue Bonaparte....

What was this? Of course, it could only be a coincidence ... but still
... rue Bonaparte--why that only brought the memory of Juve more vividly
to mind! For Juve had lived in this street; and now, a few yards further
on, they would pass before the modest dwelling where, for years, the
detective had made his home, keeping jealously hidden, from all and
sundry, this asylum, this secret retreat.

Ah, what happy hours, what jolly times, what tragic moments, too, had
Fandor not passed i