off on this occasion as usual. But Amedee, seeing the
_Lucretius_ on the table, innocently put it into the bag with the
others, and took it away without Monsieur Sariette's perceiving it. The
librarian quitted the home of the Philosophers and Globes in entire
forgetfulness of the book whose absence had been causing him such
horrible anxiety all day long. Some people may take a stern view of the
matter and call this a lapse, a defection of his better nature. But
would it not be more accurate to say that fate had decided that things
should come to pass in this manner, and that what is called chance, and
is in fact but the regular order of nature, had accomplished this
imperceptible deed which was to have such awful consequences in the
sight of man? Monsieur Sariette went off to his dinner at the _Quatre
Eveques_, and read his paper _La Croix_. He was tranquil and serene. It
was only the next morning when he entered the abode of the Philosophers
and Globes that he remembered the _Lucretius_. Failing to see it on the
table he looked for it everywhere, but without success. It never entered
his head that Amedee might have taken it away by mistake. What he did
think was that the invisible visitant had returned, and he was mightily
disturbed.

The unhappy curator, hearing a noise on the landing, opened the door and
found it was little Leon, who, with a gold-braided _kepi_ stuck on his
head, was shouting "Vive la France" and hurling dusters and
feather-brooms and Hippolyte's floor polish at imaginary foes. The child
preferred this landing for playing soldiers to any other part of the
house, and sometimes he would stray into the library. Monsieur Sariette
was seized with the sudden suspicion that it was he who had taken the
_Lucretius_ to use as a missile and he ordered him, in threatening
tones, to give it back. The child denied that he had taken it, and
Monsieur Sariette had recourse to cajolery.

"Leon, if you bring me back the little red book, I will give you some
chocolates."

The child grew thoughtful; and in the evening, as Monsieur Sariette was
going downstairs, he met Leon, who said:

"There's the book!"

And, holding out a much-torn picture-book called _The Story of
Gribouille_, demanded his chocolates.

A few days later the post brought Maurice the prospectus of an enquiry
agency managed by an ex-employee at the Prefecture of Police; it
promised celerity and discretion. He found at the address indicated a
mous