ulk
for this service without an accounting, and you will then understand
the full strength and appreciate the unique infamy of the French
Secret System.

"Eh, bien?"

Inspector Loup had finished his inspection of the childish figure
before him and was compelled to break the ice.

"Eh, bien, monsieur; it is me."

An obstinate silence ensued.

"Well, what do you want?" finally inquired the inspector, in a tone
that clearly implied that, whatever it was, she would not get it.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Then what are you here for?"

"Because I was brought."

"Oh!"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Well, now you are here----"

"Yes?"

"What have you got to say?"

"Nothing."

"Que diable! child, no fencing!"

Another awkward silence, during which each coolly surveyed the other.

"Why don't you speak?"

"About what?"

"Yourself."

"Of what good is it to speak?" she asked, simply,--"monsieur knows."

"Indeed!"

This child was breaking the record. Inspector Loup contemplated her
petite personality once more. Here was a rare diplomate.

"You are called Fouchette?" he said.

"Yes, mon----"

"You come from Nantes. No; you don't remember. You were picked up in
the streets by the Podvins and have been living with them ever since.
Fouchette is the name they gave you. It is not your real name. You are
ostensibly a ragpicker, but are the consort and associate of thieves
and robbers and assassins, who have used you as well as abused you.
You are suspected to be a regular go-between for these and the
receivers of stolen goods."

"M-monsieur!"

Truly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur knew more of her than she did.

"And I know that it is true. You would have been arrested in the act
the next trip. This ruffian, so-called le Cochon, threw you in the
river with the intention of drowning you. You were rescued through the
sagacity and devotion of a dog. Both this man le Cochon and Podvin
have been arrested. There are others----"

"There are others," repeated Fouchette.

"Which you----"

"I know."

"Well?"

"The dead man of the wood of Vincennes--last year. Did they ever find
the one who did that?"

"No."

"Le Cochon!"

"Ah!"

"Very sure."

"You saw it?"

"Oh, no. I heard them talking."

"Who?"

"Monsieur Podvin and le Cochon."

"Go on, mon enfant; you grow interesting at last."

"Monsieur Podvin was very angry because of it. They quarrelled. I
heard them from my bed in the cellar. The man had resisted,