upon the funeral car, his head uncovered in spite of the cold, and
seemed to be in deep thought. The police officer studied him from a
corner of his eye. His wrinkled face was intelligent, and bore an
expression of weariness, but there was something hard about the set of
the mouth and insolent in the turned-up end of his mustache.

As they approached the cemetery at Montmartre--the journey was not a
long one in which to make conversation--Bernardet ventured a decisive
question: "Did you know M. Rovere very well?"

The other replied: "Very well."

"And whom do you think could have had any interest in this matter?" The
question was brusque and cut like a knife. Jacques Dantin hesitated in
his reply, looking keenly as they walked along at this little man with
his smiling aspect, whose name he did not know and who had questioned
him.

"It is because I have a great interest in at once commencing my
researches," said Bernardet, measuring his words in order to note the
effect which they would produce on this unknown man. "I am a police
detective."

Oh! This time Bernardet saw Dantin shiver. There was no doubt of it;
this close contact with a police officer troubled him, and he turned
pale and a quick spasm passed over his face. His anxious eyes searched
Bernardet's face, but, content with stealing an occasional glance of
examination toward his neighbor, the little man walked along with eyes
cast toward the ground. He studied Jacques Dantin in sudden, quick turns
of the eye.

The car advanced slowly, turned the corner of the Boulevard and passed
into the narrow avenue which led to God's Acre. The arch of the iron
bridge led to the Campo-Santo like a viaduct of living beings, over to
the Land of Sleep, for it was packed with a curious crowd; it was a
scene for a melodrama, the cortege and the funeral car covered with
wreaths. Bernardet, still walking by Dantin's side, continued to
question him. The agent noticed that these questions seemed to embarrass
M. Rovere's pretended friend.

"Is it a long time since M. Rovere and Jacques Dantin have known each
other?"

"We have been friends since childhood."

"And did you see him often?"

"No. Life had separated us."

"Had you seen him recently? Mme. Moniche said that you had."

"Who is Mme. Moniche?"

"The concierge of the house, and a sort of housekeeper for M. Rovere."

"Ah! Yes!" said Jacques Dantin, as if he had just remembered some
forgotten sight. Bernardet, by