chard, "that we return to M. Delcasse's
apartment. We can talk there without fear of being overheard--a thing
that is not possible among all these trees."

Marbeau took a last look at the wireless apparatus; then Crochard locked
the door of the hut, and gave the key to the Minister.

"Where did you get this key, my friend?" asked Delcasse, looking at it
curiously.

"About that there is no mystery," smiled Crochard. "I purchased it,
together with that lock yonder, this morning. I found it necessary to
break the original lock before I could enter the hut. It may be well to
station a guard here," he added, "until you are ready to dismantle the
place."

Delcasse nodded, and slipped the key into his pocket; and together they
made their way to the waiting carriage.

The trip back was a silent one. Delcasse and Lepine, their brains aching
with the effort, were trying to understand; Marbeau, convinced that the
explosion could not have been caused by wireless, was marshaling his
reasons; and Crochard--Crochard sat with placid countenance gazing
straight ahead of him--but that placid countenance masked supreme
intellectual effort.

At last the carriage stopped.

"You will wait here," said Delcasse to the driver, and, as soon as he
reached his office, summoned his secretary and directed that a guard of
four marines be sent by the carriage to the hut in the grove. Then he
sat down, rolled a cigarette, and passed tobacco and paper to his
companions. "And now," he said, looking at Crochard, "let us hear what
you have to tell us."

"There is not much to tell, sir," answered Crochard. "I learned of the
existence of this hut yesterday evening. Some children, searching for
mushrooms for a friend of mine, who is a restaurateur, happened to see
the wires among the trees, and told him of their discovery. He thought
it so curious that he at once sent word to me."

"And you, of course, sent word back that he was to tell no one else,"
said Delcasse, with a smile.

"Yes, I thought that best. I paid a visit to the hut as soon as it was
light this morning, entered it, examined it, and convinced myself that
it was really a wireless station. Then I made certain inquiries. The
grove, it appears, is owned by a gentleman of Marseilles, and was once
much larger than it is now. The hut was built for the use of
charcoal-burners, but has not been occupied for more than two years. I
would suggest that the police ascertain whether the owner was