h?... Did they leave me
in this lair of theirs of set purpose, knowing I was cooped up inside
the trunk?"

Just then, Fandor felt a slight moisture on the palm of his hand: it was
all red: the scratches, made by the jagged edges of the wickerwork, were
still bleeding.

"Better and better I declare!" murmured Fandor. "If I don't look like a
little holy Saint John! A corpse, and a man with blood on his hands
seated beside the dead body of this murdered man! Nothing more is
required to jail me with all the power of the law!... To go to prison
under such suspicious circumstances is serious!... The police, who are
floundering about in a maze of investigations, without any result so
far, will be only too delighted to kill two birds with one stone--to
suppress a journalist and discover a criminal!... I have got to get out
of here; that is plain as a pikestaff!... Get away? Yes, but with the
honour of war!... I must establish an alibi--that is absolutely
necessary.... I like to think that my false police inspector and his
accomplice have cut and run for some time; at any rate, that they will
be in no hurry to come back to see what is happening where they have so
neatly and nicely left the corpse of this Thomery.... What part did this
fellow play in the drama?... Criminal or victim?"

Fandor had reached the door of the hall opening on to the main
staircase. He was listening.... He had explored the flat. It was empty.
He had found water in the kitchen, had washed his face, and removed
every trace of blood from his person. It was a flat suitable for a
middle-class household. There were three large rooms, decorated with a
certain amount of luxury.

Fandor looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. He stood listening.
Someone, a man, was coming downstairs: someone, a woman, was coming up.
They met on the landing just outside.

"Monsieur Mercadier, here are your letters! I was bringing them up to
you!"

"It was hardly worth while, my good lady. I have to come down, you see,
so you can save yourself five flights of stairs!"

"Oh, no, monsieur! I have to come up to go down my stairs."

Monsieur Mercadier continued to descend, and the portress continued to
mount.

Fandor's heart beat faster when he realised that she was approaching the
door. Would she come in and find him there? Had the new tenants left a
key of the flat with her? No, the portress dusted the landing quickly
and continued her ascent: he heard her going up and