e is that very often
the prisoner will make a statement to his wife which he will afterwards
greatly regret. Again, prisoners have been known to whisper to their
wives secret instructions, to order the destruction of papers before we
can make a domiciliary visit, or----"

"But you surely will not make a domiciliary visit to my house?" cried
Paul, interrupting.

The men exchanged glances.

"At present we cannot tell," Pierrepont replied. "It depends upon what
instructions we receive."

"Do you usually make searches?" asked the prisoner, with visions of his
own home being desecrated and ransacked.

"Yes, we generally do," the commissaire of police admitted. "As I have
explained, it is for that reason we do not allow a prisoner's wife to
know that he is under arrest."

"But such an action is abominable!" cried Le Pontois angrily. "That my
house should be turned upside down and searched as though I were a common
thief, a forger, or a coiner is beyond toleration. I shall demand full
inquiry. My friend Carlier shall put an interpellation in the Chamber!"

"Monsieur le Ministre acts upon his own discretion," the detective
replied coldly.

"And by so doing sometimes ruins the prospects and the lives of some of
our best men," blurted forth the angry prisoner. It was upon the tip of
his tongue to say much more in condemnation, but the sight of the man
with the notebook caused him to hesitate.

Every word he uttered now would, he knew, be turned against him. He was
under arrest--for some crime that he had not committed.

The other passengers by that night express, who included a party of
English tourists, little dreamed as they passed up and down the corridor
that the smart, good-looking man who wore the button of the Legion
d'Honneur, and who sat there with the three quiet, respectable-looking
men, was being conveyed to the capital under escort--a man who, by the
law of France, was already condemned, was guilty until he could prove his
own innocence!

In the cold grey of dawn they descended at last at the great bare Gare de
l'Est in Paris. Paul felt tired, cramped and unshaven, but of necessity
entered a taxi called by one of his companions, and, accompanied by
Pierrepont and the elder of his assistants, was driven along through the
cheerless, deserted streets to the Surete.

As he entered the side door of the ponderous building the police officer
on duty saluted his escort.

His progress across France had been s