le, sir, as you think. This Gudel is one of the leaders
of the conspiracy of which I have told you, and Fanfar is the man on
whom these bandits rely to arouse the populace in Paris."

Then in a low voice he told the Marquis how Iron Jaws had then in his
possession papers which would prove the whole plot, and give the names
of the conspirators.

"Let him fall into the hands of the law," concluded Cyprien, "and the
end is certain. We can contrive to give to the plot enormous
proportions, and he will be condemned."

The Marquis shrugged his shoulders.

"No, that won't do. We can't rely on these judges. One never knows what
whims they may take into their heads."

"But what do you propose?"

Fongereues hesitated.

"Who is this man," he asked, "who has revealed to you the conversation
of Gudel and his accomplices?"

"He is a scoundrel named Robeccal, who belongs to their troupe."

The Marquis tore a leaf from his note book, and wrote a few words in
haste.

"Take this man with you, and go to Remisemont," he said. "Go to the
Comte de Vernac, who is a rabid monarchist. He has vast influence, and
this very night the police will be here, these two men will be made
prisoners, and I have no doubt they will resist. Then I will attend to
the rest; a criminal who resists may be silenced."

Cyprien smiled meaningly.

"Now go, at once, there is no time to be lost. Fanfar must be killed;
Gudel must be taken alive. Gudel will tell his story in the court-room.
The Comte de Vernac can never say that the information on which he acted
came from me, and without any trouble we shall get rid of the heir of
Simon Fougere. Before these same judges, moreover, Labarre shall deliver
the will, and tell the secret. Let no one see you and this Robeccal go
away together."

"Rely on me."

Before many minutes, Robeccal and Cyprien started off together.

CHAPTER XXII.

POOR BOBICHEL.

More than two hours had elapsed since the departure of the two spies.
The little town of Saint Ame was plunged in profound obscurity. The wind
raged down the narrow street, and the roar and rush of the torrent was
heard in the distance.

One of the rooms in the inn presented a singular aspect. Caillette lay
exhausted on her bed, but she was not asleep; she lay with her eyes wide
open thinking of Fanfar. The poor little creature's heart was very sore,
but she was too innocent to know why. She felt a vague terror
complicated by a certain bitternes