on his shoulder.

"Listen, my dear boy; odd as you may think it, you can take my word for
it that there is no need for you to despair; there is nothing to prove
that your father is dead; he may not have been on board."

The boy looked up in surprise.

"What do you mean, Juve?"

"I don't want to say anything, my boy, except that you would be very
wrong to give way to distress at present. If you have any confidence in
me, you may believe me when I say that. There is nothing yet to prove
that you have had this loss: and, besides, you still have your mother,
who is perfectly sure to get quite well: do you understand?--_perfectly
sure!_" He changed the subject abruptly. "There is one thing I should
like to know: what the dickens brought you here?"

"You were the first person I thought of in my trouble," Fandor replied.
"Directly I read about the disaster in that paper I came to tell you at
once."

"Yes, I quite understand that," Juve answered. "What I do not understand
is how you guessed that you would find me here, in Gurn's flat."

The question seemed to perturb the boy.

"It--it was quite by chance," he stammered.

"That is the kind of explanation one offers to fools," Juve retorted.
"By what chance did you see me come into this house? What the deuce were
you doing in the rue Levert?" The lad showed some inclination to make
for the door, but Juve stayed him peremptorily. "Answer my question,
please: how did you know I was here?"

Driven into a corner, the boy blurted out the truth:

"I had followed you."

"Followed me?" Juve exclaimed. "Where from?"

"From your rooms."

"You mean, and you may as well own up to it at once, that you were
shadowing me."

"Well, yes, M. Juve, it is true," Fandor confessed, all in one breath.
"I was shadowing you: I do every day!"

Juve was dumbfounded.

"Every day? And I never saw you! Gad, you are jolly clever! And may I
enquire why you have been exercising this supervision over me?"

Jerome Fandor hung his head.

"Forgive me," he faltered; "I have been very stupid. I thought you--I
thought you were--Fantomas!"

The idea tickled the detective so much that he dropped back into a chair
to laugh at his ease.

"'Pon my word," he said, "you have an imagination! And what made you
suppose that I was Fantomas?"

"M. Juve," Fandor said earnestly, "I made a vow that I would find out
the truth, and discover the scoundrel who has made such awful havoc of
my life. But I did