answer to the
riddle--not yet!"

With that, Fandor smiled and bowed, and left the magistrate's room. He
quitted the Palais, half-smiling, half-serious.... What was he going to
do next?

XXII

AN EXECUTION

"Not much water about, is there?"

"That's so, old 'un.... If I'd known, it's boats I'd have taken to!"

"Bah! Your shoes are big enough. That's not saying it's weather for a
Christian to be out in!"

"Don't you grumble, old 'un! The more it comes down cats and dogs, the
fewer stumps will be stirring out doors!... But a comrade or two will be
on the prowl, eh?"

"Right-o, old bird!... Keep a lookout!... Sure he'll come this way?"

"You bet your nut he will!... He got my bit of a scrawl this
morning...."

"What then?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Folks coming!"

* * * * *

The night was inky black. Rain fell with sudden violence, threshed and
driven by icy gusts of wind. The hour was late: the rue Raffet deserted
save for the two men who had ventured out into the tempestuous darkness.
They advanced with difficulty, side by side, speaking low. Rough
customers to deal with. Their faces were emaciated from excessive
drinking: their eyes gleamed, their voices were hoarse: a brutal pair!
But their movements were souple and lively: they walked with that
ungainly swagger affected by the light-fingered gentry and the criminals
of the underworld of Paris.

"And what did you say in your scrawl?"

"Oh, medlars! Take-ins! You know!... I didn't put my fist to it,
though!"

"Who then?"

"You ask that?"

"I'm no wizard! If it wasn't your fist, whose then?"

"My woman...."

"Ernestine?"

"Yes. Ernestine."

They struggled on through the squally darkness. Then one of the two
broke the silence.

"You're not jealous, Beadle, making your girl write letters to such
folk?"

That sinister hooligan, the Beadle, burst out laughing.

"Jealous? Me? Jealous of Ernestine? You make me laugh, you really do,
old Beard!"

But Beard did not share his companion's mirth. He leaned against a
palisade to take breath, while a little sheltered from the fierce
onslaughts of the wind.

"I tell you what," he said in a gruff and threatening voice: "I don't
like such dodges--like those of this evening...."

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Why, because, after all, it's a comrade!"

"But he's betrayed--a traitor he is!"

"What do we know about it?"

The Beadle nodded; reflected.

"What does anyo