have kept the key of the house, and I
wish to see whether I can find any other rent receipts made out in the
name of Durand. Though I can see how Dollon inveigled Dollon into a
trap, I do not understand how it came about that Thomery paid the rent
of that trap. There is some subtle contrivance of Dollon's here; I want
to get to the bottom of it.... Will you come to rue Norvins?"

"I jolly well will!" cried Fandor.

The chief of the detective force telephoned to Headquarters, whilst
Fandor got into communication with _La Capitale_. He sent on a report of
the Thomery case up to that moment.

Quitting the police station, the two men hailed a cab, and were driven
to the rue Norvins.

* * * * *

As far as they could tell, the artist's house had not been entered since
Elizabeth Dollon's departure.

The neglected garden, with its rank growth of grass and weeds, gave an
added air of melancholy to the deserted house.

Monsieur Havard put the key in the lock of the front door.

"Don't you think, Fandor, it gives one a queer feeling to enter a house
where an unaccountable crime has been committed?" The key grated in the
lock, and Monsieur Havard added:

"In spite of oneself, there is the feeling that some terrifying spectre
is lurking within!"

"Or a ghost!" said Fandor.

And as the door was unlocked and opened, our journalist asked:

"Where shall we start this domiciliary visit?"

"Let us begin with the studio," replied Monsieur Havard, mounting to the
first story.

No sooner had they entered the room, than a double cry escaped from the
two men.

"Oh!..."

"Great Heaven!..."

In the very middle of the studio, there was the rigid body of a man
hanging.

They rushed forward....

"Dead!" was Monsieur Havard's cry.

"Horribly dead!" echoed Fandor.

"Shall we never lay hands on those wretches?" Monsieur Havard stared,
horrified, at the hanging corpse. He brought a chair, grasped the strong
sharp knife he always carried about him, and, aided by Fandor, he cut
the rope, laid the hanged man flat on the floor, and proceeded to
examine the miserable remnant of a human being.

The face was swollen, gashed, crushed....

"The hands have been dipped in vitriol--they did not want finger prints
taken--it is--it is Jacques Dollon!"

Fandor shook his head.

"Jacques Dollon? Of course, it isn't!... If it were Dollon, he would not
hang himself here.... Why should he hang himself?"