The Bureau of Public Highways, if you please?"

"What is it you wish to inquire about?"

"I want some information as to the probable duration of certain repair
works."

"Ah, then go to the fourth floor, number 54, door to the right at the
end of the passage."

"Thanks."

With a slight nod, the visitor entered the huge building on the
Boulevard Saint-Germain, which houses the offices of Public Works. He
was a young man, dressed in a long black overcoat, a derby hat, which he
wore well down over his eyes, and a wide bandage that covered one eye
and part of the cheek.

After climbing the four flights indicated, he discovered that he had
evidently taken the wrong staircase. There was nothing to do then but to
go back to the porter's lodge and get more explicit instructions. But
after taking a few steps, he hesitated.

"Fandor, old chap," he soliloquized, "what's the use of showing
yourself and taking the risk of being recognized as the erstwhile King
of Hesse-Weimar?"

For the individual who was in search of the Bureau of Public Works was
no other than the journalist. An hour previously he had succeeded by
clever strategy in getting rid of the excellent Wulf, who was at all
times very loath to let the King out of his sight. Then, rushing to his
own apartment, he had changed his clothes and partly covered his face
with the bandage to conceal his features.

After several futile attempts, aided by innumerable directions from
passing employes, he at length reached the office of which he was in
search. There he encountered a clerk who viewed him with a suspicious
eye.

"What do you want, Monsieur?"

"I want some information."

"We don't give information here."

"Really!... Why not?"

"Are you a contractor?"

"No."

"You wish to lodge a complaint?"

"No."

"Then what is your business?"

"Just to get some information as to the probable duration of certain
works."

"You are not a reporter?"

"I am not a reporter. I am an advertising agent."

"Ah, that's different. The office you are looking for is number 43, the
door opposite ... but there's nobody in now. However, you can wait."

Fandor crossed and entered room 43, where, after a moment, he discovered
an occupant tucked away behind an enormous pile of books and
manuscripts. This clerk was absorbed in a yellow-covered novel and
greeted Fandor with evident ill-humor.

"What d'you want?"

"I would like to know, Monsieur, the probable duration of t