believe his ears?... Michel apologising to
this guilty creature! Felicitating her on her escape from Vagualame's
clutches! What the deuce?...

"Ah, Mademoiselle! You never suspected who was so near you, now did
you?" Inspector Michel was saying to Bobinette, whose self-confidence
was beginning to return.

"You have certainly had a narrow escape," he went on with a
congratulatory smile. "This old ruffian meant to murder you, I am
convinced."

Pointing triumphantly to Juve-Vagualame, he added:

"But Vagualame cannot harm you now! The law has got him! The law has
saved you, Mademoiselle!"

Inspector Michel made a sign. His colleague and the Home Office
detective dragged Juve from the room. Juve offered no resistance.

"That Michel is an idiot--the completest of idiots," he thought.

"Come along, now! We are off to the Depot!" commanded Michel, shaking
Juve-Vagualame by the shoulder.

Juve was about to tear off his false beard, make himself known, and
get Bobinette arrested. He thought better of it. He was pretty sure
the girl doubted his genuineness. This arrest under her eyes would
persuade her that the Vagualame they were taking to prison was the
real Vagualame.... Better that she should cherish this delusion for
the present. Once out of the de Naarboveck house, he could explain
matters to his colleagues.

Thinking thus, Juve-Vagualame, encircled by watchful policemen,
descended the stairs. On the first floor he caught a glimpse of the
baron and his daughter in the ante-room. De Naarboveck's bearing was
dignified: Wilhelmine seemed terribly frightened. There was a scared,
hunted look on her pallid face.

Behind Juve-Vagualame in his handcuffs followed the pseudo-mother.
Judging it unwise to make himself known to the master and mistress of
the house, Captain Loreuil played his part vigorously to the last.
Close on Juve's heels he came, shouting:

"This is a nice kind of shop, this is!... You shall not remain here,
Sosthene, my child! Come, then, with your mother! She will find you a
very different situation to this! My poor Sosthene!"...

Majestically, with a wave of her arm signifying disdainful rejection,
the pseudo-mother drew her shawl of many colours about her corpulent
person and sailed out of the de Naarboveck mansion.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, up on the third floor, a puzzled, confused, battered
Bobinette was recovering from the shocks and terrors of the evening.
She