superintendent."

"Good, that will do!..."

Turning to the warders, the frowning little superintendent ordered:
"Take them away!... Cell 14.... Useless to rouse the whole place!"

Once more the warders pushed Fandor before them, as well as the poor
costermonger: they were driven into a dark corridor on to which a row of
cells opened.

The head warder opened a door.

"In with you, my merry men! You will be put through your paces
to-morrow!"

As the door fell to with a resounding clang, Jerome had inspected the
place by the light of a lantern.

"Empty!... No luck!... My plan has been spoiled: I shall not be able to
interview Jules!"

Philosophically, Jerome Fandor was preparing to go to sleep on the plank
bed which decorated one end of the cell, when the little costermonger,
roused from his torpid condition, began to moan and groan.

"Oh, what a misfortune!... To think I am innocent! Innocent as an unborn
babe!... What's to be done!... Oh, what's to be done!"

The last thing Fandor wished to do was to start a conversation with his
lamenting companion. He tapped the costermonger on the shoulder.

"Good Heavens, man, the best thing you can do is to go to sleep! Take my
word for it!"

Without puzzling his brains any further over the enigmas he wished to
get to the bottom of, Fandor stretched himself on his plank bed, and was
soon sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

* * * * *

Monsieur Fuselier looked perplexed.

"You, Fandor! You arrested!... But am I going mad?"

Our journalist had been taken from his cell at eight in the morning, and
had been conducted to the office of the Public Prosecutor. Here, the
acting magistrate, in conformity with the law, wished to put him through
the examination which would establish his identity. All arrested persons
have to submit to this interrogation within twenty-four hours of their
arrival at the Depot.

Jerome Fandor had given his name at once, and, in order to prove the
truth of his statements, he had asked that Monsieur Fuselier should be
sent for, so that the magistrate might vouch for his identity and say a
word in his favour.

Monsieur Fuselier had hastened to the Depot, had taken Fandor to his
office, and had anxiously questioned him. Why, he asked, had the police
been obliged to arrest him for drunkenness in the open thoroughfare?

When Fandor had concluded his statement, the magistrate exclaimed:

"Your ruse is inconceivabl