t the murderer is----"

* * * * *

The sound of hurrying steps behind them made both men turn round. A
postman, hot and perspiring, was hurrying to the chateau; he had a
telegram in his hand.

"Does either of you gentlemen know M. Juve?" he asked.

"My name is Juve," said the detective, and he took the telegram and tore
the envelope open. He glanced through it and then handed it to the
magistrate.

"Please read that, sir," he said.

The telegram was from the Criminal Investigation Department, and ran as
follows:

* * * * *

"Return immediately to Paris. Are convinced that extraordinary crime
lies behind disappearance of Lord Beltham. Privately, suspect Fantomas'
work."

VII. THE CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT

"Does M. Gurn live here, please?"

Mme. Doulenques, the concierge at No. 147 rue Levert, looked at the
enquirer and saw a tall, dark man with a heavy moustache, wearing a soft
hat and a tightly buttoned overcoat, the collar of which was turned up
to his ears.

"M. Gurn is away, sir," she answered; "he has been away for some little
time."

"I know," said the stranger, "but still I want to go up to his rooms if
you will kindly go with me."

"You want----" the concierge began in surprise and doubt. "Oh, I know;
of course you are the man from the what's-its-name company, come for his
luggage? Wait a bit; what is the name of that company? Something
funny--an English name, I fancy."

The woman left the door, which she had been holding just ajar, and went
to the back of her lodge; she looked through the pigeon-holes where she
kept the tenants' letters ready sorted, and picked out a soiled printed
circular addressed to M. Gurn. She was busy putting on her spectacles
when the stranger drew near and from over her shoulder got a glimpse of
the name for which she was looking. He drew back again noiselessly, and
said quietly:

"I have come from the South Steamship Company."

"Yes, that's it," said the concierge, laboriously spelling out the
words: "the South--what you said. I can never pronounce those names. Rue
d'Hauteville, isn't it?"

"That's it," replied the man in the soft hat in pleasant, measured
tones.

"Well, it's very plain that you don't bustle much in your place," the
concierge remarked. "I've been expecting you to come for M. Gurn's
things for nearly three weeks; he told me you would come a few days
after he had go