ccordion!"

Mechanically turning and returning the instrument of music, Juve
slipped his hands into the leather holders, wishing to relax the
bellows, which were at full stretch.... To his surprise the bellows
resisted.

"Why, there must be something inside the accordion!" he exclaimed.

Juve drew from his pocket a dagger knife and slit open the bellows
with one sharp cut.... Something black fell out--a piece of stuff,
Juve picked it up, spread it out, and considered it.... He grew pale
as he looked, staggered like a drunken man, and sank on a chair,
overcome. What he held in his hand was a hooded cloak, long and black,
such as Italian bandits wear--a species of mask.

Sunk in his chair, his eyes staring at this sinister garment, Juve
seemed to see rising before him a form at once mysterious and clearly
defined--the form of an unknown man enveloped in this cloak as in a
sheath, his face hidden by the hooded mask, disguised, by just such a
cloak as he had exposed to view when he slashed open the bellows of
this accordion!

This form, mysterious, nameless, tragic, thus evoked, Juve had rarely
seen; but each time that figure in hooded black had appeared, it was
in circumstances so serious, under conditions so tragic, that it was
graven on his memory--graven beyond mistake--graven ineffaceably!

Had not Juve been haunted by this form, this figure so mysteriously
indicated, haunted by this invisible face hidden by its hooded cloak
of black--haunted for years! Never had he been able to get close to
it!

Never had he been able to seize it in his hands, outstretched to grasp
it!

Whenever this sinister garment had met his eyes, it had been the sign
of some frightful deception! He did not know the countenance it masked
so darkly, but that same cloak he knew!... So well did he know it,
that never could he confuse it with another hooded cloak of
black--never! Its shape was peculiar; its cut singular--unmistakable!
It was the impenetrable mask of one of those counterfeit personalities
assumed at the pleasure of that enigmatic, sinister, formidable
bandit, whom Juve had pursued for ten years, without cessation,
without mercy; there had been no truce to this hunting.

Now he turned, and returned, this cloak of dark significance with
trembling hands, as if he would tear its secret from its sinister
folds. This hooded cloak which his knife had revealed, which he had
torn from its hiding place in the accordion of Vagualame,