"Juve!"

The very name of the detective gave him an inspiration.

"Yes, that's the only way out of it ... first of all, I must save the King, get him out of danger, and then arrange a trap to catch my gang." Fandor deliberated a moment.

"There's no doubt I shall run the risk of being killed in his place, but that's a risk I shall have to take."

And then a smile spread over the journalist's features.

"What an idiot I am! After all, there's no danger ... it was a happy thought of mine leaving that note for Juve ... he'll come to-morrow at the latest ... that gives me the rest of the night."

Fandor's ruse, its daring and its almost unheard of devotion, appeared to him quite natural. It was simply to set the King at liberty and remain himself in his place.

While he undoubtedly ran the risk of a bullet in his body, yet the carefully drawn plan he had left in Juve's rooms would enable the detective to find his prison without difficulty.

* * * * *

The first problem that presented itself was to get the drunken King away.

Frederick-Christian lay, an inert mass, quite incapable of rendering any assistance. Fandor began by drawing himself up to the opening and taking a look around. The Place de la Concorde was deserted.

"Well, to work!" he cried. "There is nothing for me to do but to haul him out, then put the body of the statue back in place.... If in three days nothing happens, why I shall be free to leave. The ham will keep me going, and as for the wine ... Ah! an idea!"

The journalist seized half a dozen of the empty bottles, climbed out and filled them with water; returning, he drew from his pocket a thin silk cord he had taken from Juve's room. By its aid and with a strength of which his slender figure gave no evidence, he succeeded in hauling the King up to the open air.

"And now for another foot bath," exclaimed Fandor; "saving Kings is a sorry business."

Having waded again through the icy water of the basin, Fandor carried the unconscious monarch upon his shoulders and deposited his burden on the sidewalk. He was about to regain his dungeon when he suddenly paused:

"The deuce! I was forgetting! When he becomes sober again, he'll have forgotten all about his adventure ... he'll kick up a row at the Royal Palace.... I must warn him."

Fandor took out his notebook, wrote a few lines which he enclosed in an envelope and pinned it upon the King's coat. Upon the envelope was written:

"I am to read this when I wake."

His next proceeding was to blow a shrill whistle.

"It's your turn now, my dear Wulf ... you won't find the fair unknown you expect, but you'll get back your Prince, slightly the worse for wear."

The journalist now swung the statue back in place, exclaiming:

"Au revoir, Monsieur, I'm off to take your place ... sorry I can't stay to see the meeting with Wulf ... he'll find his King somewhat changed.... I ought to have given you my moustache and beard."

* * * * *

Fandor passed a horrible night. He was obliged to economize the use of his electric lamp, which was only capable of giving several hours of light, so after a careful survey of his lodging, he extinguished it and lay down to get what rest he could.

"Not much fun for the King here!" he thought, "it's devilish monotonous ... can't see anything, and nothing to hear ... hold on, I can distinguish three separate noises, the plash of the water from the fountains, the rumble of carriages, and that heavy sound can only be the passage of trains from the North-South in the tunnel, which if I mistake not is right under my prison ... and these Singing Fountains ... they are accounted for by the King howling when he got drunk ... but what about the night Susy d'Orsel was killed?... The King wasn't here then, and yet they were heard singing?"

Fandor was not long in reaching the solution of the mystery.

"What a fool I am!... the murder of Susy d'Orsel, the imprisonment of the King, are both the work of Fantomas! Fantomas must have known this hiding place a long time ago.... It was he who tried the experiment of making the statues sing to find out whether the sound could be heard above.... And to think that this monster has been arrested by Juve! And without me, too!... I shall have only the glory of showing up a few of his accomplices, and if they don't come in two or three days, why, I shall clear out."

Fandor rose and went toward the base of the naiad.

"It's still dark. I might just as well get a breath of fresh air."

With a gymnastic leap, the journalist reached the body of the statue and switched on his electric light. He made a horrible discovery. To reach the King he had maneuvered the statue from the outside. He realized now that it was impossible to open it from the inside. In his daring folly he had shut himself in and possibly condemned himself to the most terrible torture.

Now he began a struggle to regain his liberty. He tore his fingers and broke his nails in vain despairing efforts ... at length he gave up, beaten. He was irrevocably a prisoner. When he realized his situation he sank to the ground, a cry escaping his lips:

"Juve! Juve! If only Juve finds my letter. If only he comes to save me!"



CHAPTER XX

FREDERICK-CHRISTIAN

"Another drink, Monsieur Louis?"

"I think I've had about enough."

"No, no ... this is my turn to treat."

"Well, since you put it that way, Monsieur Wulf, I can't refuse."

"Besides," added the barkeeper, "this is some very special vermouth, only served to old clients."

"Ah," laughed Wulf, "I hope we're included in that category, for you certainly have no better client than myself."

"Excuse me," replied the barkeeper, smiling, "we have one, your boss, Monsieur Wulf, the King Frederick-Christian.... And while he doesn't always finish his drinks he always pays for them."

"And that's the important thing," added M. Louis.

It was about ten in the morning, and in the bar of the Royal Palace, deserted at this early hour, were M. Louis, Major-domo of the hotel, Wulf, and the barkeeper, who in his turn offered a round of drinks on the house.

As the glasses were being filled, the telephone rang to say that his Majesty wanted to see Wulf.

"That's all right," replied Wulf condescendingly, "I'll be along by and by."

After several more vermouths, Wulf grew expansive:

"Do you know, Monsieur Louis, that I've actually saved the King's life twice in five days!"

"Pretty good work," commented M. Louis, politely.

"The first time was the day after my arrival in Paris. Your Government wanted to kick up a fuss over the death of the King's little sweetheart; in fact, they went so far as to talk of his arrest." Wulf stopped suddenly, alarmed:

"But that is a state secret which I may not tell you. The second time was yesterday evening, or rather early this morning. You see the King and I had been off on a spree together."

As the barkeeper looked surprised at this announcement, Wulf explained:

"Oh, we're a couple of pals, the King and I ... like two fingers of one hand ... that's why I was in no hurry to answer his call just now.... Well, as I was saying, we were having a little spree, and the King was going to introduce me to a little ... but that's another secret.... I'll skip the details, it is enough to say that after waiting a while, I found, instead of the girl, the King, my King. And where? Beside the Singing Fountains in the Place de la Concorde. Ah! my dear friends, what a state he was in! I hardly knew him at first; in fact, I shouldn't have known him at all if I were not such a sharp detective. He had removed his false beard and spectacles. I tell you Frederick-Christian has aged ten years, his clothes were torn and covered with mud, and moreover he was dead drunk! How he managed it in the time I don't know, for he wasn't away from me for more than an hour. What would you have done in my place? Left there in that deserted street he would have been at the mercy of the first thief or assassin. Therefore, I say, I saved his life by putting him into a cab and bringing him back to the Royal Palace. While I was helping to put him to bed, I noticed a letter pinned to his coat with this inscription on it, 'I am to read this when I wake.' So I have arranged accordingly. He'll see it the first thing on opening his eyes. Well, what do you think of that? Didn't I save the King's life a second time?"

M. Louis nodded:

"Never twice without the third time."

"I hope so ... well, au revoir, Monsieur...."

"Pardon, Monsieur," interrupted one of the employes, "but his Majesty has asked for you again."

"All right, I'm going," replied Wulf, as he drank his fifth vermouth.

* * * * *

"Whatever happens, whatever you are told, do not show any surprise. Take up your customary life again as though it had never been interrupted, as though nothing had happened since the night of December 31st."

Frederick-Christian, the victim of a racking headache, read and reread these strange mysterious words, without in the least understanding their meaning. After a heavy sleep, he had wakened about nine o'clock to find himself lying comfortably in his own bed at the Royal Palace. At first he thought it was part of his nightmare, that he was dreaming, but as he became more fully awake, he was obliged to admit the evidence of his senses.

At this moment, he suddenly caught sight of the crumpled letter pinned to his counterpane; opening it, he read the lines that Fandor had hurriedly pencilled the night before.

In spite of his exhaustion and stiffness, he sprang out of bed and was about to ring for a servant when a feeling of caution came over him.

It would be better first to take stock of the situation.

What had happened?

Among the newspapers lying on the table, he noticed several copies of the Gazette of Hesse-Weimar.

He glanced over the most recent numbers, but found nothing unusual in their columns. He then went back to the paper dated January 1st and to his amazement saw the following announcement:

"Paris, 1st January. (From our Special Correspondent.) His Majesty Frederick-Christian, contrary to his general custom, did not leave his Hotel during New Year's Day. This may be accounted for by the fact that the streets of Paris are, as a rule, crowded during this holiday and his Majesty would have run the risk of being drawn into promiscuous contact with the common people."

The copy of January 2d also remarked that the King had evinced a desire to attend the Longchamps races, but had been prevented by the possibility of a chance meeting with the President of the Republic, a contingency not foreseen in the protocol. Frederick-Christian, in fact, recalled that he had expressed a wish to attend the Longchamps meet, but he asked himself how it was possible to have notified him of the change of program while at that time he had mysteriously disappeared! But the climax of his amazement was reached when he came to the following paragraph:

"Paris, 4th January. (From our Special Correspondent.) His Majesty Frederick-Christian II is still held in the French Capital by affairs of the highest importance. His subjects need, however, be under no apprehension, as his Majesty's health is excellent, this information having been received by Hedwige, our well-beloved Queen.

"During his stay in Paris, Frederick-Christian has been especially appreciative of the respectful and devoted services of M. Wulfenmimenglaschk, head of the secret service of Hesse-Weimar, who, by the exercise of his perspicacity and high intelligence, has found in the King not only an able assistant, but a true friend, having the honor to occupy the apartment at the Royal Palace next to his Majesty."

* * * * *

"What's this all about?" exclaimed the King, "what influence have I been under during these last four days?"

It was easy enough to recommend him to show no surprise, but it was also necessary to settle upon some definite attitude to take. And what about this "Wulf"?

Frederick-Christian would have a look at this individual who claimed to be his friend and his next door neighbor. Accordingly he rang the bell, and sent down the message which Wulf received in the barroom. A wait of twenty minutes followed and then the door opened without ceremony and the King stood rooted in amazement at the appearance of his Secret Service Chief. In the most natural manner in the world, Wulf entered the room and stood looking slyly at the King. Then, smilingly, he said:

"Well, Sire, feel better?"

"What!" stuttered Frederick-Christian, scarcely able to speak for indignation.

"Yes," continued Wulf, "I'm glad to see you up; as for me, I'm all right ... but you must remember that I drank less than you did last night. I tell you they've capital vermouth here ... shall I order your Majesty a bottle?"

"What's your name?" asked the King.

Wulf considered his sovereign with compassion.

"He's still a bit soused," he muttered to himself, then wagging a reproving finger at the King, he continued:

"Who am I? Wulfenmimenglaschk, Sire, at your service, and I've already saved your life twice ... that's why I may be allowed to give you a bit of advice. Cut out the booze, Sire, you're distinctly the worse for wear ... you're so changed that if it wasn't for your dressing-gown...."

Wulf was undoubtedly very drunk; otherwise he could not have failed to notice the difference between the King of the last few days and the present one.

Frederick-Christian held himself in hand as long as possible, then burst out:

"What does this attitude mean?... this familiarity? What makes you speak in French?"

Wulf was first amazed at the change in his beloved master and inclined to weep over his humiliation. He was about to give utterance to his feelings when the King seized him by the arm and pointed to the Hesse-Weimar Gazette.

"Read that! Who furnished this information?"

"Why, I did, Sire."

"Then you mean to say you have been continually with me. You occupy the next apartment? You enjoy my friendship?"

"Yes, Sire."

The King, in a burst of rage, now held the unfortunate Wulf by the collar and shoving him toward the door, ejected him onto the landing with a prodigious kick.

* * * * *

Frederick-Christian, more puzzled than ever by the turn of events, now turned his attention to his toilette. He was still in scanty attire and went behind his screen to continue dressing. At this moment a soft and charming voice spoke:

"Sire, are you there? It is I ... Marie Pascal."

Marie Pascal!

Where had he heard that name before? Slowly Frederick-Christian recalled the silhouette of a young woman ... with a fair skin and light hair ...

The voice continued:

"I am glad to know that you are better, Sire. Forgive me for troubling you now but since our last meeting things have happened of a very serious nature ... hidden enemies want to destroy me ... to destroy us.... First of all they accused your Majesty of the murder of Susy d'Orsel, and now after torturing me with questions they have dared to say it was I!... I'm sure they overheard our last conversation and misunderstand our love for each other...."

Frederick-Christian was growing suspicious. What did this extraordinary visit mean? Did they want to trap him into an unwary admission?

"In the name of our love, say you don't believe me guilty!"

The King hesitated.

"I don't know.... I ..."

He stopped short as Marie Pascal with a sudden movement flung down the screen. The King in amaze stood stock still while the young girl looked at him in utter stupefaction, with trembling lips and body shaken by nervous tremors. Then suddenly she turned in terror, screaming:

"Help! Help! The impostor! The murderer!... the King is not the King.... Frederick-Christian has disappeared!... Who is this man?"

The girl's cries brought the Hotel servants quickly to the scene. She continued, pointing to the King:

"Who is this man?... Frederick-Christian has disappeared!... good God, what has happened?"

"Better call the police," suggested some one.

This met with general approval, but proceedings were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Wulf.

"Have you heard?" several voices asked.

"All I know," replied Wulf in a piteous tone, "is that Frederick-Christian or not, he's got a devilish heavy foot, and when he kicks, he kicks royally."



CHAPTER XXI

HORRIBLE CERTAINTY

"What has happened to that idiot Juve? Here for three days I've been shut up in this beastly prison and no sign of him."

As the days passed, Fandor gradually lost his buoyancy of spirits and became more and more anxious.

"What can Juve be doing?" he repeated for the hundredth time.

The continual obscurity of the place began to weigh him down. This was relieved each day for a few moments by a thin shaft of light. Fandor was quick to account for the phenomenon.

"It happens exactly at noon when the sun is directly overhead," he reasoned, "and finds an entrance through a crack in the bronze."

Many times he climbed to the body of the naiad in the hope of discovering some method of escape, but at length he realized that the thing was impossible.

He was seated one night deep in thought, puzzling his brains for the reason of Juve's defection, when a voice suddenly broke the silence.

"Can you hear me?"

Fandor bounded to his feet.

"Yes, I hear you."

"You must be getting uneasy?"

"Uneasy! I'm going mad! What a long time you've been!"

"That's true, I am a little late, but it hasn't been very easy."

Now that Fandor's mind was set at rest about his deliverance, he grew curious to know the results of the detective's investigation.

"Well, you were successful?"

"Yes, quite successful."

"Do they know in Glotzbourg?"

"They must have some suspicion by now."

"When did you get back?"

"This morning."

"Only this morning! And did you get my letter?"

"Your what, Sire?... I don't catch."

"I say you must have got my letter, since you are here, and now please get me out of this hole as quickly as possible ... it's awful being shut up here ... you can't imagine how I long for a breath of fresh air."

"Yes, yes, I understand, but I'm wondering how I'm to get you out."

"What's that?"

"Have you thought over a way we can effect the exchange?"

"But, my dear fellow, you must know what to do. I gave you full particulars in my letter."

"In your letter?"

"Yes.... I even enclosed a diagram."

There was a pause, the voice then asked:

"Will you pass me up this letter by ..."

Fandor interrupted:

"Why, it's quite simple! Find the third naiad, counting from the one nearest the bridge."

Suddenly the voice explained:

"Look here, Sire, we are talking at cross purposes. I am asking you where we can exchange the diamond."

"The diamond?"

"Yes! Your diamond."

Fandor's face grew pale.

"My diamond!"

"The diamond I went to Glotzbourg to get ... what's the matter with you, Sire? Don't you remember?... And what's all this about a letter?"

"Why, Juve! I'm talking of the letter I left at your apartment in which I explained how you may reach me!"

"Juve! Juve! Oho!"

A burst of strident laughter, infernal and diabolical, reached Fandor, who now guessed the horrible truth.

"If it isn't Juve who is speaking, who is it?" he cried. "For the love of God, who are you?"

"The person speaking to you ... is Fantomas."

"Fantomas!"

Staggering, terrified, Fandor screamed:

"Fantomas! Fantomas!... It can't be possible! Fantomas has been arrested! Fantomas is in the hands of Juve!"

"Fantomas arrested?... Fantomas can't be arrested! He will never be caught! He is above and beyond every attack, every menace! Fantomas is Death, Eternal Death, Pitiless Death, King Death! Good-bye!"

A long silence followed. Fandor was stunned by the awful reality. He experienced all the sensations of a man buried alive, condemned to death with torture. And then another thought flashed through his mind:

"The papers spoke of Fantomas's arrest. But if Fantomas is at liberty, it must mean that Juve has been beaten! Juve went to Glotzbourg to arrest him. A man has been arrested under the name of Fantomas. That man must be Juve himself!"

And his letter! The first thing Fantomas would do would be to go to Juve's apartment and destroy it.

"He has got me," he exclaimed. "He can choose his own time to kill me. He can send down asphyxiating gas or a deluge of water through the connecting tube, or he can just leave me here to die slowly of hunger and thirst."

The journalist began pacing up and down his prison. He tried to recover his calm and argue the case out:

"Here I am in perfect health, clear in my mind and able to struggle to the bitter end. I have enough food and water to last me about nine or ten days. In my pocket I have my revolver, so that I can blow my brains out if it comes to the worst. But I won't. I'll fight! I'll fight until I drop!"



CHAPTER XXII

BETWEEN US THREE—FANTOMAS!

For the second time, the Grand Duchess Alexandra solemnly repeated to the Queen:

"I have the honor to take leave of your Majesty, and I dare to hope that I may hear news of your Majesty when I reach my journey's end. I shall be away a long while from the court of Hesse-Weimar and from its august Sovereign for whom I profess the deepest respect."

The interview between the Queen and the woman she deemed her mortal enemy took place about eleven o'clock, two days after the famous ball in the midst of which the detective Juve had so unfortunately been mistaken for Fantomas, and thrown into a gloomy dungeon where he had since been kept in solitary confinement. Opinion at Hesse-Weimar was divided between the theory that the thief had succeeded in hiding the famous diamond before he was caught, and the theory that when he discovered its hiding place, he had found an empty jewel case. Naturally, the identity of the Grand Duchess with the famous Lady Beltham,[3] established by Juve, was unknown in Hesse-Weimar, nor did anyone suspect that her sudden departure was in any way connected with the arrest of the pseudo Fantomas.

[Footnote 3: See "Fantomas," Vols. I, II, III.]

The Queen was at first unwilling to believe in the retreat of her enemy, but she was at length obliged to accept the fact when Alexandra made her formal adieux.

"There was a rumor that you were going to leave us," she replied, "but I scarcely credited it, Madame."

The adventuress, who by a series of extraordinary circumstances had been enabled to pass herself as a cousin of the reigning family, looked at the Queen sadly:

"Your Majesty is not very kind to me," she exclaimed with tears in her voice, "and I hoped for a more friendly farewell at the moment when I am taking my departure for the new world."

The Queen was touched by these words; with an impulsive movement she opened her arms to the false Grand Duchess, who flung herself into them in a long embrace.

The two women now had a heart to heart talk in which the Queen confessed her fears and distrust. She even went to the length of admitting her belief that Alexandra had had designs upon the throne of Hesse-Weimar.

The adventuress looked with pitying contempt upon the little Queen Hedwige:

"Your Majesty has been outrageously deceived," she replied, "I belong to a race which is incapable of such treachery."

Completely reassured, the Queen became very tender and ended affectionately by wishing the pseudo Duchess a good journey. The two women parted friends.

* * * * *

On a siding in the Glotzbourg station stood a private car, which had been placed at the service of the Grand Duchess, waiting to be connected with the Paris express from Berlin.

Inside, the Duchess, dressed in a quiet traveling costume, sat talking to Prince Gudulfin. The young man was pale and anxious:

"Your orders have been carried out, Madame, are you satisfied?"

The pseudo Grand Duchess thanked the Prince with a softened look, and the latter continued in a low voice:

"Madame, you know that my followers are prepared to try a coup d'etat—for pity's sake accept the homage of my love, give me a word of hope, and I will overthrow the present dynasty and mount the throne myself with you as my Queen."

"That is nothing but a mad dream, Prince ... something impossible to happen ... we have not the right even to think of it."

"You are more than unkind to me, Madame ... you are enigmatic ... mysterious."

At this moment a newsboy was heard crying an extra edition of the Hesse-Weimar Gazette. The Duchess rose quickly and bought a copy.

In large headlines she read the following:

"Death of Fantomas. The bandit ends his days in prison."

Alexandra sat down and became absorbed in the details, paying no further attention to Prince Gudulfin.

At length after a long pause, he spoke bitterly:

"This bandit seems to interest you more than I do, Madame."

The Grand Duchess made a vague gesture of denial.

The Prince sighed:

"Ah, you might remember that in this sinister business, the account of which you are now reading, it is owing to me your wishes have been carried out. You have been obeyed blindly."

Lady Beltham was spared the necessity of replying, for at this moment the express entered the station with a deafening roar. As it was scheduled to remain only a few minutes, the private car was hurriedly attached to the end of the train. In the ensuing hurry and scurry of passengers who were anxiously being scrutinized by the Grand Duchess, there appeared a man dressed in dark clothes, and wearing a gray beard. He was searching hurriedly through the cars for an empty seat. The Duchess gave a faint cry at the sight of him, and withdrew to the back of her compartment.

Who was it?

The train whistled and the last good-byes were said.

Prince Gudulfin pleaded so urgently for a tender word, that the adventuress, with the consummate art of the actress, leaned out, whispering:

"Hope, Prince, hope ... some day, perhaps ... later ... and remember that even the most virtuous of women, when she cannot give encouragement, is not averse to leaving regrets behind her."

* * * * *

During the evening which preceded Lady Beltham's departure, Juve sat in his cell eating his frugal repast.

For forty-eight hours he had seen no one except his two jailors, and he was beginning to worry over his situation. There had now been plenty of time for them to discover their mistake in arresting him. His eyes had pained him greatly the first day but were now slowly recovering. Feeling a desire to sleep, Juve stretched himself on his bed and gave way to reflection.

What had happened?

It was not difficult to guess. The officers of the Palace, finding him in the King's bedroom, a smoking revolver beside him and a Lancer crying "Thief! thief!" had naturally arrested him, thinking him guilty. Fantomas, after blinding him with pepper, had changed back into his uniform and escaped with the diamond. But what was Lady Beltham doing there known to the Hesse-Weimar people as the Grand Duchess Alexandra? What new and diabolical projects were on foot to bring the monster and his mistress together in this honest, bourgeois court of Hesse-Weimar?

As for the diamond, of what possible use could it be to the thief? It would be harder to get rid of than the obelisk or the Vendome column!

While these thoughts were passing slowly through Juve's mind, he felt an intense desire to sleep come over him, his limbs suddenly became numb and heavy; and then a sudden terror seized him.

"I have been poisoned!" he cried, making a superhuman effort to rise; but the narcotic was slowly but surely overpowering him. Finally, he lost all idea of his surroundings and sank back on his bed unconscious.

* * * * *

Had the day come?

A pale light touched with yellow and silver rays, crept softly through the half-opened door and reached the face of a sleeping man; causing him to stir and to open his eyes, blinking and yawning. It was Juve.

The first thing his gaze lighted upon was a round moon in a blue sky sown with stars. The detective who had gone to sleep in a dungeon, smiled instinctively at the heavens and the fresh, pure air which filled the room. By degrees his mind went back to the events of the past night, the heavy sleep that had come over him, and he wondered how much time had elapsed since he had lost consciousness. He had, besides, the impression that beneath his ample and warm bed clothes he was quite naked. His movements, too, seemed constricted as though he were lying in a narrow frame bed placed on the ground.

But where was he?

Thanks to the moonlight, he could perceive that he was in a room on the ground floor. Outside, shapes flitted by, and these Juve soon found to be bats hurrying to their nearby lairs. An owl hooted in the distance. The detective determined to make an effort to get up. To his surprise he met with no resistance and easily climbed out of the sort of box in which he had been lying.

As his eyes became accustomed to the semi-obscurity, he started upon seeing the bed he had been lying in. It was a coffin.

Juve then shuddered at the thought of the horrible death he might have undergone. He might have been buried alive! But a further surprise was in store for him. Not far away stood another coffin, and in this second one lay a corpse.

The dead man was about fifty, strongly built and robust. A small clot of blood had congealed on his temple and this was enough to show Juve the cause of his death.

He had been shot through the head with a revolver, and his death had been instantaneous. The rigidity of the body showed that the crime had been committed some time before. And then he made a still further discovery. By the side of the coffin lay a pile of clothes, and to Juve's amazement he recognized them as being his own!

"Well," he exclaimed, "there can be no harm in putting them on, since they are mine." A further search disclosed, tucked away in a corner of the coffin, his pocketbook. Not only that, but some generous person had stuffed it literally full of bank notes, and in a small pocket he also found a first-class ticket from Glotzbourg to the frontier.

"What on earth does all this mean?" he exclaimed.

A search of his erstwhile bed now brought to light a sheet torn from a railway time-table, upon which a certain train was underscored in red ink. From another corner of the coffin he brought out a false beard and a pair of yellow spectacles! In a twinkling Juve dressed himself and crossing to the door, pushed it open and looked out.

"The deuce!" he cried, "that's a funereal outlook!"

Before him stretched away on all sides ... tombstones! tombstones big and little—some with crosses, others with crowns and flowers.

Juve was in a cemetery, and the strange room in which he found himself was the mortuary chapel. Nothing disturbed the impressive silence of this vast resting place. In the distance a clock struck five, and far off Juve perceived the silhouette of the Glotzbourg Cathedral.

The detective pulled himself together and began to piece out by his well-known habit of induction some solution to this incomprehensible mystery.

"To begin with," he exclaimed, "my being still alive is evidently due to the will of my adversaries. It is possible that the police of Hesse-Weimar may have discovered their mistake, and taken this method of setting me at liberty. Or, it has been given out that I am dead, and they intend to bury this poor fellow in my place....

"No, that's stupid. I was forgetting it is Fantomas who is supposed to be caught, then are they going to give out that Fantomas is dead?... That seems out of the question.... Besides this man didn't die a natural death, he was killed! I can't make head or tail of it."

Juve paced up and down, rejecting one hypothesis after another. Finally, with a shrug of his shoulders, he cried:

"Bah! I shall know all in good time. Let's get to the most pressing problem. I have been given money, a ticket with the time of departure marked on the time-table, that is as much as to say:

"'My dear Sir, you are to go to the Station and take the 1.22 train, first class, for the frontier, there you will be left to your own devices ... but be careful to use the disguise given you.'"

"Well," continued Juve to himself, "I haven't the least desire to thwart my mysterious friends, having no wish to prolong my visit here."

Soon afterward Juve set out toward the town. As he walked the dawn broke on the horizon.

* * * * *

For three hours the Berlin express had been speeding across Hesse-Weimar on its way to Paris. Night was beginning to fall and multi-colored signals showed their points of light as the train sped past way stations.

Juve, plunged in his thoughts, paid no attention to what was passing without. He had picked up a copy of the Hesse-Weimar Gazette before leaving, and in it had read the following:

"The desperate bandit, Fantomas, arrested two days ago in the Royal Palace while in the act of stealing the diamond, has committed suicide by shooting himself through the head with a small revolver he had hidden in his clothes. His body is now lying in the mortuary chapel of the cemetery awaiting the inevitable autopsy."

This information but confirmed Juve in the hypothesis he had formed. But there still remained a point to be cleared up. Undoubtedly the public were being duped ... but who was duping them, and why? If Juve was thought to be Fantomas, they wouldn't have let him escape and put a dead man in his place. On the other hand, if they knew that Juve was not Fantomas, why the devil had this suicide story been invented?

A new idea suddenly flashed through Juve's mind.

"Suppose that not only the people of Hesse-Weimar but also the Government have been fooled!"

A glimpse caught of Prince Gudulfin descending from the private car at the Hesse-Weimar station, was sufficient to start this train of thought. By association of ideas the sight of the Prince brought to Juve's mind the figure of the Grand Duchess Alexandra, who was no other than Lady Beltham. And Lady Beltham suggested Fantomas, whom Juve was inclined to credit not only with his arrest but also with his liberation.

When the train pulled into the Frontier Station Juve, still wearing his false beard and whiskers, jumped down and hurried to the ticket office to buy his transportation to Paris. As he was returning, he happened to glance at the private car attached to the train at Glotzbourg, when, in spite of his self-control, he could not repress a cry of triumph.

One of the window curtains was suddenly raised and then immediately lowered again, but Juve had time to recognize a face. It was that of the Grand Duchess Alexandra ... otherwise Lady Beltham. The train whistled.

Juve had only just time to regain his compartment. He began pacing up and down the corridor, rubbing his hands, almost jumping for joy. At last the mystery was cleared. He understood what had been going on. Lady Beltham had fainted when Juve was arrested. Why?

Evidently, because she had accepted the general opinion that he was Fantomas. After coming to herself and learning that the monster was in prison, she had made up her mind to effect his escape cost what it might.

But how was she to set about it?

Doubtless Lady Beltham, in her capacity of Grand Duchess, had many devoted friends, and it was evidently with their aid that the evasion had been brought about. And Lady Beltham, herself a dupe, still imagined it was her lover she had saved; when in reality she had set at liberty his most determined enemy.

As the air now began to grow chilly, Juve returned to his compartment and picked up his overcoat. He was about to put it on, when he stopped in amazement.

On the lining was pinned a paper with the following words scribbled in pencil:

"America Hotel, Paris."

For a long time Juve, with bent brows, read and reread these words. They could only have been brought here by Lady Beltham herself while Juve was away getting his ticket. What did this mysterious address portend?

If Lady Beltham believed she was communicating with Fantomas, she certainly would have no need to write to him; she would know well enough where to find him.

Furthermore, why didn't she simply walk through the several intervening cars and talk to him? What could be the motive powerful enough to prevent the mistress rejoining her lover? Upon second thoughts Juve doubted the hypothesis that Lady Beltham had intended to instigate the release of Fantomas. Might she not have become weary of the yoke which joined her to this monster and be really repentant of her crimes? It would not be the first time she had tasted remorse—and, instead of saving Fantomas, was aware that Juve had been set at liberty.

"Yes," echoed Juve, "this second hypothesis is evidently the right one and Lady Beltham has ranged herself upon the side of law."

The detective, with a defiant glance at the deepening evening shadows, proclaimed grandiloquently:

"So be it, Lady Beltham, it shall not be said that a gallant man repays you with ingratitude, and if you care to have it so we will say in unison:

"Between us three, Fantomas!"

* * * * *

The train thundered through the night. It was only at seven in the morning that the suburbs of Paris showed through an uncertain fog.

Saint Denis, the fortifications, and then the train slowed up and stopped under the great glass dome of the Gare du Nord. Juve, waking with a start, hastily sprang out and made his way to the private car in the hope of seeing Lady Beltham. But the Lady had already disappeared.... Juve caught up with her just in time to see her enter an automobile which instantly got under way. He managed to catch the number of the car, but could not find a taxi rapid enough to make the attempt of overtaking her.

"Oh, well," he exclaimed, "I know how to find her."

A sudden thought struck him:

"The delay accorded me by M. Annion expires to-day, and the arrest of the false Frederick-Christian is about due. I don't suppose Fandor has taken any steps, but I'd better find out what is happening."

Juve consulted his watch:

"Half-past seven, I can call on the Minister of the Interior."

He sprang into a taxi and cried:

"Number eleven, Rue des Saussaies!"



CHAPTER XXIII

OFFICIAL OPINIONS

"Well, M. Vicart?"

"Well, M. Annion, that's all."

"That's all!" replied M. Annion. "That's nothing! We've been talking for a quarter of an hour without getting anywhere or reaching any conclusion."

"But, M. Annion...."

"No, I say.... It is I who have been giving you all the information and that, you know, is rather surprising.... You are the acting head of the Secret Service and you should have known all this. It's not my place to tell you what's going on at the Royal Palace."

"M. Annion, nothing at all has happened."

This reply threw M. Annion into a sudden fit of anger.

"Is that so? Nothing has happened, hasn't it? And you don't realize the gravity of the case! Really, Vicart, it's discouraging! Can't you understand that we must absolutely come to some decision? The ministry is under the constant threat of interpellations and that state of affairs cannot continue."

"Oh, I don't say the situation isn't serious, I only say nothing new has turned up."

"That's just what I'm complaining about—your absolute lack of comprehension. To begin with, a week has gone by ... a whole week since Juve left, and not a word from Glotzbourg.... In fact, Juve is a day late already.... Does that convey nothing to you?... To me it means that Juve has found nothing there."

"I don't quite understand," ventured the bewildered Vicart.

M. Annion took pity on his subordinate.

"Before Juve left he had proved to me that the King was the real King; isn't that so?"

"Yes."

"But that doesn't alter the fact that the King is a murderer.... Juve suspected some court intrigue, that's why he left for Glotzbourg. Now what is our situation? We have a King who has committed murder, and we don't arrest him. But that is the least of my worries. What about public opinion on the one hand and the extraordinary audacity of this monarch on the other?"

"Public opinion?"

"Yes! why the deuce don't you read the papers? Learn what is going on! Take the opposition press—they're always hinting at the weakness of the government in not arresting criminals on account of diplomatic complications. While I've seen to it that no more manifestations take place outside the Royal Palace, that the public for the time being is muzzled, still it is only waiting a chance to break out again. And now here is Frederick-Christian writing to the Minister of Foreign Affairs saying he wishes to meet the President of the Republic ... while he is here incognito. Still, by the terms of the protocol, he owes a visit to the Elysee—he's right about that."

"Well, what then?"

"Why, it complicates things very awkwardly. How can the President receive, especially incognito, a King who is thought to be an assassin ... you don't know what might be made of it.... This extraordinary Frederick-Christian takes advantage of his impunity. He's had lots of time since the death of Susy to slip quietly back to his own country.... That would have let us out ... instead of which he comes out in the limelight ... gets himself talked about ... a nice time to choose, I must say!"

M. Annion was interrupted by the entrance of a clerk who handed him a visiting card.

"Who is it now?... Ah ... show them in."

He then turned to M. Vicart:

"Don't go.... It may be something connected with the King."

The door was opened and the visitors announced:

"M. the Commissaire of Police Giraud—Mlle. Marie Pascal."

"Well, Monsieur Giraud ... take a seat, Mademoiselle ... what have you come about?"

"A very serious business," answered M. Giraud. "I have come to see you after a visit from Mlle. Marie Pascal. She will repeat to you the extraordinary things she has said to me."

"What is it all about, Mademoiselle?"

Pale and anxious, Marie Pascal rose and advanced to M. Annion's desk, and said, with a trembling voice:

"Monsieur, I went to M. Giraud about a call I wanted to make on his Majesty Frederick-Christian, King of Hesse-Weimar."

"Yes?"

"Well, Monsieur, I was not received by the King."

M. Annion evinced no surprise.

"Unless I am mistaken you are the lace-maker who was so tragically mixed up in the death of Susy d'Orsel?... It was you who found the chemise ... it was you who ... however, go ahead, Mademoiselle, you were received by a secretary, by a chamberlain?"

"No! no! I was received by the King, but by a King who wasn't the real one, but an impostor!"

"Good God!" cried M. Annion.

Here was this impostor affair cropping up again. The girl must be crazy.

"But it's unbelievable! Come, Mademoiselle, weigh well the gravity of your words—you can scarcely be making this up as a joke, I hope. You can furnish absolute proof of what you say? Why do you think the King is not the King?"

Marie Pascal had recovered her self-control, and she gave M. Annion a detailed account of the audience she had obtained with Frederick-Christian. She hid nothing, neither his former warmth of feeling nor his recent coldness. She explained that his face no longer looked the same, nor had his voice the same sound, that he had attempted to hide behind the screen and finally that she was quite sure the man she saw was not the King.

"What did you do, Mademoiselle?"

This time M. Giraud spoke up:

"Mlle. Marie was wrong in what she did, but under the stress of emotion she raised the whole hotel and made such a row that M. Louis advised her to come and see me."

"Very good, and then?"

"Why, M. Annion, I hurried to the Royal Palace and made an investigation, where I confirmed what Mademoiselle had told me. I then decided I had better lay the matter before you."

M. Annion sat deep in thought for a few moments. Then he burst out:

"Hang it! Your accusation of imposture is absurd, Mademoiselle, utterly impossible!" Then, turning to M. Vicart, he added:

"Haven't we the formal declaration, irrefutable, of that Secret Service man ... Glaschk..."

"Wulfenmimenglaschk."

"That's it!... Have you seen him, M. Giraud?"

"I have, but I couldn't get anything out of him; he was three-quarters drunk, and furious with his Majesty who had just struck him."

M. Annion stared in amazement.

"But Frederick-Christian was his friend—his intimate friend ... they were pals ... and you say he struck him?"

Crossing quickly to the telephone, he called up:

"Hello! Are inspectors 42, 59 and 63 there? What? Then send them up."

"You did well to come to me, M. Giraud; we must clear up this business at any cost.... I've just sent for the three inspectors whom I detailed this morning to watch his Majesty Frederick-Christian...."

Then glancing at Marie Pascal:

"You'll hear what they have to say, Mademoiselle." A few minutes later the three men entered the office.

"Well, what is new? You've been shadowing him?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Anything to report?"

"Nothing much, Monsieur, only in regard to the conduct of the King. It seems that since this morning he has quite changed. Frederick-Christian, instead of keeping himself shut up as of late, now sees his friends again and has resumed his haughty manner and his fault-finding with the servants."

"What friends has he seen?"

"A young attache of the Embassy arrived immediately after luncheon, and the director of his bank."

"And these men found nothing unusual?"

"No, chief, nothing at all."

M. Annion turned to Marie Pascal.

"You see, Mademoiselle, that is conclusive, isn't it? What probably happened was that the King had a fit of nerves, due to the death of his mistress, and then his return to his normal life misled you...."

Marie Pascal interrupted:

"No, Monsieur, no! Your inspectors are wrong! I who love him cannot be deceived! It is no longer Frederick-Christian II who is at the Royal Palace, it is an impostor! Besides, even if I could have been mistaken, he had no reason for not recognizing me, of not seeming to understand what I was saying."

The second inspector spoke up:

"Chief, I have something which will convince Mademoiselle that she is mistaken. I was able to get hold of one of his Majesty's collars which he had just worn. Its size is distinctly characteristic, being 18 inches. Now it would be very easy to verify the fact that the real King wears this size and also whether it fits the supposed impostor. In any case, Monsieur, from inquiries made among the hotel servants I find there can be no doubt that Frederick-Christian is actually staying there, and that his intimate friends have been received and have recognized him."

M. Annion did not answer.

"This Marie Pascal is crazy," he thought, "or else she is up to some game which I don't understand... the King is the King all right, but, hang it all, that doesn't alter the fact that he is an assassin."



CHAPTER XXIV

JUVE'S LIES

M. Annion had left the Ministry quite late the evening before in a very bad humor. Not that he had any doubt about the deposition of Marie Pascal. The report of his inspectors had settled that point, supplemented by the visits to the King of the attache and the banker.

"That young girl of the sixth floor," he said to himself, "who calls herself Marie Pascal, is either trying to hold up the sovereign or else she is crazy. In either case the important thing is to make her hold her tongue. Now there are two ways of doing this, through menacing her or through bribing her. I'll apply the first, and if that doesn't answer I'll try the second."

As to the King, while his identity had been proved, he was none the less a murderer.

The question was whether to prevent the visit he wished to pay to the President of the Republic or to bring it about.

M. Annion took the Rue des Saussaies at 7.30 and having reached home, dined quickly while he read the evening paper. The news was startling.

An article reserved in tone, but giving sufficient details, announced the arrest of Fantomas, the mysterious criminal of the Palace Royal of Glotzbourg, while attempting to steal the diamond which constituted the private fortune of Prince Frederick-Christian II.

"Good God!" cried M. Annion, "Fantomas arrested, the diamond stolen, and Juve doesn't return or send any word!"

The director of the Secret Service felt himself entangled in a network of intrigues which seemed impossible to unravel. He seemed to be surrounded by an impenetrable mystery.

Fantomas! And now the name of Fantomas was associated with the scandal brought about by Frederick-Christian!

M. Annion slept badly, haunted by a nightmare in which he was constantly pursuing an extraordinary Fantomas, whom he would seize and bind and who would then suddenly vanish into thin air. At eight o'clock in the morning he appeared at his office. There a surprise awaited him. Upon his desk lay a telegram. Rapidly tearing it open, he glanced at the text.

"Ah!... Good God! Can it be true! Fantomas dead! Fantomas dead in prison! I must be dreaming!"

While he was rereading the astonishing news, the door of his office opened and Juve walked in.

"Juve!"

"Myself, Chief."

"Well!"

"Well," replied Juve, calmly, "I've had a pretty good trip."

Brandishing the telegram, M. Annion cried:

"Fantomas is dead!"

"Yes ... Fantomas is dead."

"What have you found out?"

"Oh, a thing or two ... rather interesting."

"And the diamond?"

"Stolen, Chief, disappeared."

"Stolen by Fantomas?"

"Yes, by Fantomas."

"It was you who arrested him?"

"Hum!—yes and no.... I was the cause of his arrest."

"And the murder of Susy d'Orsel?"

"It was committed by Fantomas."

"You are sure of that?"

"Certain, Chief."

M. Annion rose and paced up and down in great excitement.

"Now then, let's get the facts in the case, tell me in detail what occurred at Hesse-Weimar."

Juve had had the foresight to prepare a report which would tell enough to prove that the murderer of Susy d'Orsel was really Fantomas, and thus clear the name of the King. He gave no hint, however, that Fandor was still, as Juve thought, impersonating Frederick-Christian, and made no mention of his own adventures. He concluded by saying:

"In a word, we have now only to establish the guilt of Fantomas and publish the story of his crime, to absolve the King in the eyes of all ... and that will mean the end of your troubles."

"That is true!" replied the director joyfully, "and I may add it is entirely due to you, my dear Juve. Why, the other day, I was actually on the point of arresting Frederick-Christian, which would have been an unpardonable blunder."

"Really?"

"Yes. For since your departure, the identity of the King has been established beyond dispute. Yesterday I learned that the director of the bank had had an interview with him, and he also received a visit from an intimate friend, an attache of the Embassy."

Juve heard these words with growing uneasiness. The King was Fandor. How had Fandor managed the affair?

M. Annion continued:

"And what do you think happened yesterday afternoon? I received a visit from a little idiot called Marie Pascal, who still insisted on the imposture. She asserted that the King was no longer the same."

Juve felt his head swimming.

Marie Pascal had paid one visit to Fandor, and now declared he was no longer the same! So Fandor was not at the Royal Palace. Who had taken his place?

The real King?

Was Fandor himself a victim?

"By the way," pursued M. Annion, oblivious of Juve's trouble, "you didn't happen to learn any details concerning the King's toilette at Glotzbourg?"

"No, why?"

"Oh, nothing of importance. I should like to have known whether it was a fact that Frederick-Christian wore an 18-inch collar. It would merely have been another proof."

The words literally stupefied the detective. If the man at the Royal Palace wore 18-inch collars, he was certainly not Fandor, whose neck was very slender. The journalist wore size 14-1/2.

* * * * *

One hour later—it was then half-past ten in the morning—Juve arrived at the Royal Palace. He did not attempt to send up his card to the King, but contented himself with gathering what information he could from among his colleagues who were stationed about the hotel.

"The deuce!" he cried, twenty minutes later. "It's true that Frederick-Christian is really here. What has become of Fandor? Well, I shall probably be able to get news of him at his own apartment. What I have to do now is to recover the diamond and catch Fantomas ... if that is possible."



CHAPTER XXV

"I WANT TO LIVE!"

During two days which passed like two centuries, Fandor had been held prisoner in his dungeon where death awaited him.

"I am condemned to death," he exclaimed, "very good, then I will wait for death."

But Fandor was of those who do not give up until the struggle is over. Besides, he had his faithful revolver. He could end his life at any moment and shorten the torture. He had found sufficient ham to last for two meals, and when that had been eaten and the last drop of water drunk he began to suffer the tortures of hunger and thirst. And now, like a caged beast, he paced up and down his prison. His mind went back to stories he had read, stories of entombed miners, of explorers hemmed in by ice, of hunters caught in traps, but in all these cases deliverance in one form or another had come at last—the adventures ended happily.

"I want to live," he cried aloud, "I want to live!"

Suddenly a great calm descended upon him. His coolness and clear judgment returned.

"To struggle! Yes—but how?"

At this moment the roar of the Nord-Sud shook his prison walls. An idea took root in his mind.

Might it not be possible to burrow his way through the soil directly to the tunnel! Examining the ground, he decided that it would be simpler to tunnel his way like a mole, skirting the concrete base of the statue and reaching the pavement beyond. It would not be hard work to dislodge one of the paving stones and reach the open air. No sooner was the plan conceived than he broke several of the bottles until he obtained a piece of the thick glass sufficiently jagged to form a trowel.

With this rough implement he then set to work, scooping up the earth and piling it on one side of his cell. Patiently and ceaselessly he continued, hour after hour, until suddenly the hiss of escaping gas could be faintly heard.

"I'm done for this time," he cried in despair. "I shall be asphyxiated!" But a gleam of hope quickly set him to work again.

"Gas is lighter than air. It may percolate through the chinks of the masonry. In any case I'd rather die that way than be starved to death."

It was a race between the escaping gas and the tunnel.

Very soon Fandor began to feel a dizziness in his head, and the air became more difficult to breathe; suddenly, he had the sensation of being enveloped in an extraordinary blue flame, and then a loud report deafened him.

Fandor's prison, saturated with gas, had suddenly blown up!

The ground gave way beneath him: he was lying in the ruins.

Destiny had made a plaything of his efforts.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE ACCUSING WAISTCOAT

"As a matter of fact, Monsieur Juve, did not the celebrated Vidocq before he was a detective begin life as a murderer?"

Wulf, book in hand and comfortably installed in a large armchair, addressed the question to Juve, who answered in brief monosyllables, without turning his head:

"That's true, Monsieur Wulf."

"And don't you think that every detective at one time or another has a tendency toward crime, either as a thief or as an assassin?"

"That I cannot say."

* * * * *

What a day Juve had passed! Events had succeeded each other with such startling rapidity that the detective, in spite of his robust physique, began at length to feel the strain. As a matter of fact he had really had no rest since his tragic awakening in the mortuary chapel at Glotzbourg. He had passed the following night in the train without closing an eye. Upon his arrival he had been busy without interruption until he found himself, at ten o'clock at night, in his little apartment in the Rue Bonaparte with the grotesque Wulf as companion. While the latter was tranquilly reading the adventures of Vidocq, Juve was absorbed in a strange task which occupied his entire attention.

He was minutely examining a queer-looking garment, a waistcoat of very unusual cut. He turned to Wulf:

"Monsieur Wulf, you recognize this garment, don't you? There is no doubt that it came from Jacob and Company, the Glotzbourg tailors?"

Wulf nodded.

"No doubt whatever. I've had too much experience in such matters to be mistaken.... Besides, the initials J. G. are on the buttons."

"Yes, yes—Jacob of Glotzbourg."

Juve now examined the lining with a magnifying glass, muttering the while:

"Ah, just as I expected!"

The pocket of the waistcoat had been distended by some large object which had been forcibly introduced into it. The detective quickly took some modeling clay and made it into certain dimensions carefully measured, then with a stick he marked the surface of the ball into facets, referring now and again to a book open before him. "Let's see," he exclaimed, "the Hesse-Weimar diamond is two-thirds of a hen's egg in size, and weighs 295 carats, that is to say, larger than the Koh-i-noor, the famous Indian diamond, one of the crown jewels of England."

He now introduced his model into the pocket and found that it fitted the hole exactly.

"There! What do you say to that!" he cried.

"Why, you're very clever, Monsieur Juve," replied Wulf, "but I don't see how that helps. Even if you prove that the King's diamond was kept for a certain time in the pocket of that waistcoat, still you don't know to whom the waistcoat belongs, and that's the most important point."

Juve, still engrossed in his examination, vouchsafed no reply, and Wulf with folded arms stood contemplating him. Various problems were engaging Juve's thoughts, whose day had been exceedingly busy.

After being satisfied that Frederick-Christian was really back again at the Royal Palace, the question arose as to what had become of him after his disappearance. A hurried visit to Fandor's lodgings disclosed the fact that the journalist, after a brief absence, had returned home for an hour and had then disappeared again.

"Upon my word," he thought, "he might at least have sent me some word. He must know how anxious I would be about him."

From Fandor's house Juve had gone direct to Susy d'Orsel's apartment. It was a theory of his that a good detective could never visit too often the scene of a crime. Mechanically he went through the various rooms until he reached the kitchen.

"I have a feeling that something happened here," he muttered, "but what?"

A close examination of the floor showed distinct traces of feet in some fine coal dust. These traces proved to be those of a woman's shoes, small, elegant and well made. They could not possibly belong to Mother Citron nor to Susy d'Orsel, who, he recalled, had worn satin mules on the night of the murder. The person who immediately presented herself to Juve's mind was Marie Pascal.

"The deuce!" he cried, "this becomes complicated. This coal dust and these imprints were not here a few days ago, therefore some one has been here since and has evidently been at pains to lay a false trail!"

With the intention of examining the servants' staircase again, he let himself out with a pass-key and began the descent. But so absorbed was he in his thoughts that unconsciously he went down one flight too many and found himself in the cellar of the building. Juve, following his custom of never neglecting to search even the most unsuspicious places, lit his electric light and examined the room he had entered.

On either side of the cellar were ranged a number of doors, all securely padlocked. These were evidently the private cellars of the tenants. As he threw his light on the floor, he could not repress a movement of surprise. Dropping on all fours, he began a close examination of the ground.

"Now I begin to see daylight. For some time I have had the conviction that Frederick-Christian, upon leaving Fandor made his escape by the servants' staircase, and thus left the house. But I could not understand why he had not returned to his hotel. My conclusion was wrong. Frederick-Christian, like myself, came down a flight too many and found himself, as I have, in this cellar. Evidently a scoundrel was waiting for him here. The trampled ground, the shreds of silk torn from a high hat, all indicate clearly the struggle which took place. But the King, being drunk, was easily overpowered and bound. That is the reason he did not reach his hotel."

One difficulty still troubled the detective. It had been shown that on the night of December 31st, the third person, otherwise the King, whom Fandor declared to be in the apartment, had been unable to escape by the back stairs, since the door was locked and bolted. Then it came into Juve's mind that the maid Justine in giving testimony had become embarrassed and finally had admitted that the key having been lost, she had neglected to lock the door. This cleared up the dubious point and established in Juve's mind the complete explanation of what happened.

Fantomas, after killing Susy d'Orsel, had lurked on the stairs until the King left the apartment. Then, locking the door, he had hurried after his victim and caught him at the moment he reached the cellar.

The detective's next move was to break into the apartment of the Marquis de Serac. By the aid of a ladder which he found in a corner, he climbed up and broke a windowpane and thus made his entrance. At first nothing in the apartment seemed worthy of suspicion. The rooms were elegant but commonplace. The bureaus and wardrobes were locked, and gave out a hollow sound when rapped upon. As he did not have his burglar's equipment with him, Juve decided to come back later and investigate. He was on the point of leaving when his foot caught in a garment, which he found to be a waistcoat. He gave vent to an exclamation of surprise as he picked it up and folding it into a bundle hid it under his overcoat. The Marquis de Serac had been under his suspicion for some time; now that suspicion was in a fair way to become a certainty. Were the Marquis and Fantomas one and the same?

Juve was inclined to answer in the affirmative....

* * * * *

The next step was to invite Wulf to dine with him, to show him the waistcoat and prove beyond doubt that it had been made by a tailor of Glotzbourg.

Juve's opinion had now become a solid conviction. Fantomas had worn the garment, and had carried the diamond in the pocket of the waistcoat he found in the Marquis de Serac's apartment. Hence the Marquis de Serac was Fantomas.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE EXPLOSION OF THE NORD-SUD

The Empire clock on Juve's desk struck half-past eleven. The detective, having gone over in his mind the course of events just narrated, rose abruptly and tapped Wulf on the shoulder.

"Monsieur Wulf, if you are to remain here you are very welcome to do so; as for me, I'm going out."

Wulf, wakened out of a doze, sat up and stared at Juve, an expression of dawning suspicion in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

Juve, absorbed in his thoughts, did not remark the strange behavior of his colleague. He had settled on a plan of action, which was simply to arrest the Marquis de Serac.

"Oh, I'm just going ... for a walk."

"All right, get your hat."

A few moments later the two men hailed a taxi and drove to 247 Rue de Monceau.

During the trip Juve pumped Wulf about his relations with Fandor, and it appeared that the latter had pursued the policy of making Wulf drunk upon every occasion. Doubtless, the detective reasoned, it was thus that Fandor was enabled to escape for an hour, during which time the substitution had been effected. Wulf explained how he had found the King near the fountains in the Place de la Concorde, and Juve realized that in some way or other the King and the fountains were mysteriously connected.

In his turn, Wulf plied Juve with questions as to what he had done during his stay at Glotzbourg.

What sort of welcome had he received from M. Heberlauf?

How had the arrest of Fantomas been effected?

How had the monster died?

The detective, naturally, had no intention of enlightening Wulf as to the truth.

He therefore answered in monosyllables, annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken. In fact, as the questions became more pressing, it flashed through Juve's mind that the stupid officer was actually beginning to suspect him of being Fantomas. As the taxi neared its destination Juve suddenly put his head out of the window and cried with an oath to the chauffeur:

"Follow that automobile which is just starting and don't lose sight of it!"

Wulf turned inquiringly:

"It's the Marquis de Serac."

"Well, what of it?"

"Why, is he the man we are after?" Then turning again to the chauffeur:

"Have you plenty of gasoline?"

"Enough to run a hundred miles, Monsieur."

The chase began at the Boulevard de Courcelles, continued through the Place de l'Etoile and the Avenue de la Grande Armee. The two taxis, of the same horsepower, kept an equal pace, but the Marquis de Serac's chauffeur seemed the smarter man. At any rate, he was the more daring. He dodged in and out of the traffic and began to gain on his pursuers.

"He's taking us to the Bois," growled Juve, as they made a turn to the left after passing the fortifications, before the Barriere de Neuilly. The pace increased in the back streets and then, suddenly, the taxi of the Marquis de Serac disappeared!

It had turned sharply down a narrow street.

At the risk of his neck, the detective sprang out of his taxi and rushed round the corner, just in time to hear a door bang to.

Wulf now joined him.

"We have wasted our time, my dear Juve. The taxi we have been following was empty. It made a circuit and passed me just now."

"Just what I expected!" cried Juve, "our man got out of it ... he is still here."

Juve took out his revolver, and then an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips. Fifty yards away, a figure appeared, vague and dressed in white.

"What the devil does that mean? I've been following the Marquis de Serac, of that I'm sure, and now I find this other one." Then turning to Wulf, he gripped him by the arm. "You see that individual, well, he is the Primitive Man Ouaouaoua."

* * * * *

Taking the utmost precaution, Juve and Wulf followed the enigmatic Ouaouaoua for over an hour. The singular meeting had given the detective food for thought. This man had figured prominently at the ceremony of the Singing Fountains; again, he had been foremost in the demonstration of the mob against the King outside the Royal Palace. It was now that a suspicion came to Juve's mind, that this venerable beard and white woollen robe concealed the person of the Marquis de Serac.

"Whatever happens," he muttered, "I must get to the bottom of this. While it would be quite easy to bring him down with a shot from my revolver, yet, once dead, I could get no information from him."

They arrived at the corner of the Boulevard Malesherbes and the Avenue de Villiers, and Juve's excitement grew, for he knew that not far away was the America Hotel, where Lady Beltham had put up under the name of the Grand Duchess Alexandra. Ah! If it were possible to connect the Primitive Man with her! In that case he would not hesitate to arrest them both, although he suspected that Fantomas's mistress would be more ready to give him up than to shield him.

But Ouaouaoua brusquely made a right-about face and headed toward the Boulevard des Batignolles.

"Are we going to keep this up much longer?" inquired Wulf, who by this time was breathless and weary.

"You can go if you like," growled Juve without turning his head. In his intense absorption, Juve failed to notice the menacing and ironical look the officer directed at him.

Ouaouaoua now turned down the Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette hastening his speed. The two men had some difficulty in keeping up with him. Suddenly he disappeared at the corner of the Rue Saint Lazare and the Rue Lamartine. Juve sprang forward just in time to see the white draped figure vanish down the stairs leading to the underground Station of the Nord-Sud.

The Station was lighted and the ticket windows open. The morning's traffic had begun.

"Have you just seen a queerly dressed man?" he asked one of the porters.

"He has just bought his ticket, Monsieur."

Juve flung down a coin, seized two coupons and without waiting for the change hurried onto the platform. The first morning train was waiting, due to start in five minutes. A quick search through the carriages disclosed the object of Juve's search. He was standing in the first carriage by the door of the driver's compartment. While Juve eyed him eagerly, the Primitive Man in turn was watching the detective.

The conductors and employes were standing gossiping by the ticket office, and the station was almost deserted at this early morning hour.

Juve remained on the platform with Wulf. As a preliminary to making his arrest, he took out his revolver, and held it in the palm of his hand. Suddenly he gave a yell and sprang forward. Ouaouaoua, taking advantage of the engine driver's absence, had entered his compartment and pulled the levers.

In a moment the train was under way. As Juve made a jump on board, Wulf tried to restrain him, and in the scuffle knocked the revolver out of the detective's hand. To the consternation of the train's crew left behind in the station, the train was now gathering speed. Their shouts in turn alarmed the few passengers, who regarded the precipitate entrance of Juve in amazement. Finally a cry from the powerful lungs of Wulf was heard above all the other noises. A name shouted in terror:

"Fantomas!"

A rush was instantly made to seize the fool or the madman who had started the train, but a revolver shot quickly drove back the passengers and Juve, furious with the imbecile Wulf for having disarmed him, was obliged to take cover with the others.

The train passed through the Station de la Trinite, shot through Saint Lazare without heed to signal and tore along at headlong speed. And then, in a moment, the train was plunged into total darkness and a cry of rage escaped from the Primitive Man. The detective understood in a flash.

The Nord-Sud had had the happy idea of cutting off the power, and Juve noticed that this occurred just as the train had passed the Station de la Concorde and entered the tube beyond. Ah! this time the Primitive Man was in a tight corner. His revolver would be less dangerous in the darkness.

Juve rose carefully, prepared to advance, when a spark was seen, succeeded by a terrific explosion. A shower of matter fell upon the train, shattering the windows and throwing the passengers pell-mell upon each other.

Then ... silence....

* * * * *

The red lights of torches gradually lighted up the tunnel in which the tragic accident, still unaccounted for, had occurred. Juve, unconscious for ten minutes, came to his senses and realized with a sense of relief that he was unhurt, and that the men directing the rescue were the Paris firemen. Many persons had been wounded, but by an apparent miracle not one had been killed.

The Primitive Man had disappeared.

Juve, in quest of clues which might lead to the discovery of the explosion, climbed upon the train to where an immense hole in the roof of the tube had showered down bits of asphalt and broken earth. He noticed quickly that communication had been opened with the Place de la Concorde. By dint of hoisting and scrambling he succeeded at length in gaining the surface of the ground.

Vague groanings came from the mass of stones piled not far away. As he approached these noises, they became more distinct. Finally, he discovered the body of a man wedged between two large blocks and covered with a piece of gas-pipe.

The body was begrimed with soot and mud. Juve, after hauling his burden to the open air, where he was greeted with cheers by the crowd, dipped his handkerchief in the water from the fountain and wiped the man's face. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees with a cry:

"Fandor! It's Fandor!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

INNOCENT OR GUILTY?

Juve and Doctor Gast were talking in low tones in the dining-room adjoining the bedroom. Their patient, Fandor, had just wakened and had cried out:

"I'm dying of hunger!"

It was about nine o'clock in the morning. After rescuing his friend Fandor from his perilous situation, he had taken the unfortunate journalist to his own home in Rue Richer and called in a physician of the quarter, Doctor Gast. An examination of the patient showed that he had received no serious injury, merely some abrasions and one or two burns.

As Juve and the Doctor answered his call for food, Fandor sat up and without surprise or question repeated his cry:

"I'm dying of hunger. Hurry up and give me something to eat."

The Doctor took his pulse, then suggested:

"Something light won't hurt him, say, a slice of ham."

A formidable oath was the reply:

"No, thanks!... anything you like, but not ham."

"All right ... a chicken wing instead."

This seemed to satisfy Fandor, who added:

"While I'm awful hungry, don't forget that I'm just as thirsty!"

"Well, Doctor?"

"Well, Monsieur, I find everything going well. Our patient has had a good meal and is now sleeping peacefully. By to-morrow, M. Fandor will be all right again. It was, however, about time he got food, for in my judgment he pretty nearly died of hunger."

"That's what I can't understand."

"When you went back just now to the scene of the accident, didn't you learn any of the details?"

Juve answered evasively:

"Nothing to speak of, Doctor, merely that the wounds of the passengers are not serious. As to the cause of the explosion, I have a notion that it may have been due to an escape of gas. I noticed a strong odor of it about. Probably a spark set it off."

The doctor now took his leave, and no sooner was he well out of the door when a joyful whistle came from the sick man's room. Juve could not restrain an exclamation of surprise as he looked into the bedroom. Fandor was already partly dressed and in the act of lacing up his boots.

"You are crazy to get up in your condition!"

"Hang my condition, I feel as strong as a horse and as hungry as a bear."

Juve laughed.

"Oh, if that's the way you feel there's nothing more to be said."

After a second breakfast, Fandor turned to his friend:

"Now, then, Juve, let's hear where you've been!"

For two hours each in turn narrated their adventures of the past days, and by combining their experiences, they arrived at a clear view of the situation. One question was answered beyond doubt. The hand of Fantomas was everywhere apparent. His carefully laid plan to get possession of the King's diamond unquestionably involved the arrest of the King by the French authorities for the murder of his mistress.

It was now their difficult task, first to recover the jewel and then capture the bandit. Two points still remained to be cleared up. What role had Marie Pascal played in the affair? Was she innocent or an accomplice? And had Lady Beltham intended to save Juve or had she intended to save Fantomas?

It was finally arranged that Juve should go to the America Hotel and call on the pseudo Grand Duchess Alexandra, and that Fandor should see Marie Pascal. They were about to put this project into execution when a loud knocking at the door startled them.

Fandor sprang forward, but the detective quickly thrust him into the bedroom, and opened the door himself.

"You here, Wulf!"

"As you see."

The absurd officer marched into the apartment with an air of great satisfaction.

"Well, Monsieur Juve, and what do you think of my detective instinct?"

"I don't understand."

"Ah, you thought you'd got rid of me at the Sud-Nord Station, didn't you, but I fooled you. I arrived at the scene of the explosion at the precise moment you were giving an address to the chauffeur and carrying away a body."

"A body ... in pretty good health!"

"Furthermore, I came across some one you were looking for, I think."

"Fantomas?"

"No, not Fantomas, but the Primitive Man, generally called Ouaouaoua."

"And you let him go?"

"Oh, I let him go all right, but not before he gave me his address."

Juve smiled grimly.

"A nice mess you've made of it!"

Wulf continued with an air of great importance:

"I can tell you something else, the King returns to Glotzbourg to-night, but before he goes we shall have the guilty person arrested."

A slight noise made Wulf turn his head and then give a loud cry.

Fandor had entered the room.

"Good God! Who is that?... the King?... No, it's not the King ... help! help!"

Wulf cast frightened glances to right and left and then made a dive for the door, slamming it behind him as he rushed out:

"I knew he was a fool," exclaimed Juve, "but I didn't know he was crazy besides. And to think he had Fantomas in his hands and let him go!"

The two men now reverted to their interrupted project and decided to pay their respective visits to Marie Pascal and Lady Beltham.

* * * * *

"Mam'zelle Marie! Mam'zelle Marie! Come in and rest a bit!"

The pretty lace-maker was passing the office of the concierge, the so-called Mother Citron. The young girl accepted the invitation and sat down, heaving a deep sigh. It was only ten in the morning but her red eyes and her face showed signs of having passed a bad night.

"You mustn't work so hard!" exclaimed the concierge.

"Oh, it isn't my work; that rests me, it helps me to forget.... I have so many troubles."

"Tell me all about them."

By degrees and through her tears, Marie confided all that had happened to her since the night of the murder. The avowal of love she had made to the King and the unforgettable hour she had passed in his company; then the police inquiries, suspicions, and the fact that they were continually following her.

* * * * *

"Ah, if only I had some one to turn to. I've thought of going to see this detective the King spoke of, M. Juve."

As Marie Pascal pronounced that name, an expression of sinister joy came into the eyes of Mother Citron:

"That's a good idea," she exclaimed.

Marie hesitated:

"I would never dare go to see him alone."

"Marie Pascal, you know how fond of you I am, and as sure as I'm called Mother Citron, I'll prove what I say. In a couple of minutes I'll put on my hat with the flowers and leave my workwoman in charge here. Then I'll take you myself to this M. Juve... if you're afraid of him, I'm not!"



CHAPTER XXIX

COMPROMISING DISCOVERIES

Fandor, smoking a good cigar, walked to the Rue Monceau, taking deep breaths of the fresh air, looking up with delight at the blue sky. After his imprisonment and slow torture he experienced an extraordinary joy in living and in his freedom.

When he reached the house he found the concierge's office empty. He called out several times.

"I'm the concierge, what is it you want?" a voice answered behind him.

Fandor turned sharply:

"Ah, there you are, Madame, I didn't see you."

It would have surprised the journalist had he known that the extraordinary Mme. Citron a moment before had been comfortably installed in the Marquis de Serac's apartment, and that hearing herself called, she had slid down her communicating post to answer the summons. Still further was he from imagining that the Marquis de Serac and Mme. Citron were one and the same person.

"Well, now that I'm here, what is it you want?"

Madame Citron recognized Fandor. But she recognized him as being some one he was not. She had, indeed, only seen him for a few moments immediately after the murder of Susy d'Orsel.

"I want to see Mlle. Marie Pascal. She lives here, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Monsieur, but ..."

"Is she at home?"

"What is it about?"

Fandor answered casually:

"I have an order to give her."

"Then, if Monsieur will leave it with me..."

"Why? Isn't Mlle. Marie Pascal here?"

"No, Monsieur."

"Will she be long away?"

"I'm afraid she will."

"All right, I'll come back about six o'clock. I must see her personally, I have a number of details to explain."

Mme. Ceiron shook her head.

"I don't think you'll find her."

"Why not?"

"Well, she's in the country."

"Will she be away for several days?"

"I expect so."

Fandor decided to burn his bridges.

"Look here, it's not about an order; I'm sent here by Juve, you know him?"

"The detective?"

"Yes, Madame, the detective."

Madame Ceiron appeared to be very disturbed.

"Oh! I shall get jaundice from all this bother. I can't even sleep in peace. It'll end in them suspecting me, I know it will."

"No, no, Madame, I assure you...."

"After all, I'd rather tell you the exact truth, then you can't complain of me. You see, it's this way: Yesterday the little girl came and said to me, 'Madame Ceiron, I'm so upset and unhappy, and I'm bothered to death with questions, too, and then, this King who isn't a King ... I've a good mind to pack my trunk and go away.' So I said to her, if that's the case, go by all means—she had paid a quarter's advance—and when you are ready just come back—and that's all there is to it, Monsieur."

"You have no idea where she went, Mme. Ceiron?"

"Well, I heard her tell the cab-driver to take her to the Montparnasse Station."

"Do you know if she has any friends or relations in the country?"

"Ah!—that's a good idea, Monsieur, now I come to think of it, she always went on her holidays from the same station, probably to visit some of her family, but where they live I haven't the least idea."

Fandor had an inspiration.

"Maybe she has received letters which will tell us! Have you the key of her room?"

"Yes, I have the key; would you like to go up?"

"Of course!—I must make a search through her belongings."

* * * * *

Jerome Fandor felt strangely agitated in entering the simple room of the young lace-maker. It has been frequently said that the souls of people can be divined from the atmosphere of their homes, and if this is true, the journalist was surely not mistaken when at the Royal Palace he had experienced a rather warm feeling for Marie Pascal.

The room showed no sign of precipitate abandonment, nor any preparation for a long absence. Her work-basket and cushions were all in place, and one would have expected her return at any moment. But alas! Fandor could harbor no illusion regarding her. Her flight was evidently to escape a probable arrest by Juve. A minute inspection of Marie's papers disclosed nothing of importance; but upon opening the last drawer in her desk he found, hidden under envelopes and letter paper, a number of small objects.

"Ah! the devil!" he exclaimed.

The objects were jewels, brooches, rings, earrings and also a large key, evidently of an apartment door. One glance at the jewels was enough. Fandor had seen and admired them upon the person of Susy d'Orsel during the supper which preceded her tragic death.

"My God! there's no doubt now," he muttered, "Marie Pascal is the accomplice of Fantomas."

And then the journalist decided upon a theory to account for her having left the jewels behind. She had probably arranged to have them found among somebody else's things and thus to throw suspicion from herself, just as she had attempted to leave the famous chemise in the Marquis de Serac's laundry.

"What will Juve say to this? I must see him right away!"

He turned to the concierge:

"Madame Ceiron, I realize our search here will be without result, so I will leave you now and probably return about ten to-night with my friend Juve."

"Very good, Monsieur. You found nothing, I suppose?"

"Nothing at all," declared Fandor.

While Fandor was going downstairs the pseudo Mme. Ceiron made a grimace.

"He's found nothing, hasn't he? And yet he's turned over everything I left in that drawer! He's not so clever as Juve, although he isn't a fool.... After all, I don't care, I've got them both where I want them."

Jerome Fandor shouted an address to his driver:

"Rue Bonaparte, and if you hurry there's a good tip waiting for you."



CHAPTER XXX

SHADOWED

An unusual cold had continued for nearly a week, and the ice fete organized by the skating club upon the upper lake in the Bois de Boulogne had been announced for this particular day. This fete had been already frequently postponed on account of the weather. It had become a joke among Parisians to receive an invitation for a date which was invariably followed by a period of thaw, turning the lake into ice water and mud.

And now the afternoon of this January day, which began with the explosion in the Sud-Nord tunnel, had been finally decided upon. The clear atmosphere and severe cold promised no further disappointment. The fete was to be given in aid of the poor of the town and the admission fee was put at a high figure for the purpose of drawing a fashionable crowd and keeping out the mob. Vehicles of all kinds drew up and were parked by the shore of the lake, giving the place the appearance of a fashionable reception.

M. Fouquet-Legendre, President of the Committee, stood chatting with the Marquis de Serac, and both men cast frequent glances in the direction of the town.

"You are sure he will come?" M. Fouquet-Legendre inquired for the twentieth time.

"You may rely upon it, His Majesty himself promised to honor with his presence the reunion organized by your Committee."

M. Fouquet-Legendre moved away to superintend the preparation of a lunch table containing sandwiches, cakes and champagne. The Marquis de Serac sauntered among the crowd, exchanging bows and handshakes with his numerous friends.

To see this elegant old gentleman, jovial, smiling, without an apparent trouble in the world, it would be hard to imagine that he was the formidable and elusive Fantomas.

* * * * *

The arrival of a superb limousine aroused the curiosity of the crowd. A distinguished-looking man, wearing a striking cloak and a cap of astrakhan, stepped out of it.

It was King Frederick-Christian II. The worthy president immediately suggested a glass of champagne, but the King made it quickly known that he had come to skate, and desired to remain officially incognito.

Frederick-Christian had regained his popularity in the eyes of the Parisians. The suspicion of murdering his mistress which had attached to him had gradually given way to the belief that he was innocent, and the real perpetrator of the crime was now supposed by the public to be Fantomas.

* * * * *

The King proved himself to be an expert skater, and under the respectful gaze of the crowd, described graceful curves and difficult figures upon the ice. At length the attention of the King was drawn to a woman, who, equally clever, seemed to be amusing herself with copying his evolutions. The figure of this woman seemed not unfamiliar to him, and he finally set himself to follow her, increasing his speed, until the two brought up face to face. Involuntarily a name escaped his lips:

"The Grand Duchess Alexandra! You here, Madame!"

He could not forget that this woman, with all her seductive charm, was actually a redoubtable adversary of his dynasty. The pseudo Grand Duchess, however, manoeuvred skilfully, affecting such a timid and embarrassed air that by degrees the King's severity melted under her charm. She seemed a little tired and out of breath from the chase, and when she glanced round in search of support, he could scarcely do less as a gallant man than offer her his arm.

Profiting by this chance, the adventuress adroitly whispered her regrets at the unjust scandal and calumny which had coupled her name with that of Prince Gudulfin.

"Sire," she finally murmured, "give me the opportunity of proving my devotion."

The two, separated from the others, slowly skated away together. Suddenly the King stopped short; he realized he had listened with close attention to the confidences of the troubling person he still took for the Grand Duchess.

What had she been saying to him?

* * * * *

A few minutes later Frederick-Christian, deciding it was time to return to his Hotel, skated toward the bank. The Grand Duchess made a deep curtsey and ended her conversation with these words:

"Sire, may I beg your forgiveness for one of your subordinates?"

"It is granted, Madame ... if what you tell me comes true...."

"Your Majesty will permit me to be present at the Gare du Nord when you leave this evening."

* * * * *

A taxi arrived at the lake. Juve sprang out of it.

The detective bit his lip and swore upon seeing a superb limousine in which he saw seated Frederick-Christian and the Marquis de Serac.

"Too late again!" he muttered. "I miss Lady Beltham at the America Hotel; I miss the King at the skating. At least, let me make sure that the so-called Grand Duchess is still here."

A thorough search on the ice and among the crowd on shore failed to discover the lady, who had doubtless left at the same time as the King. While skating from group to group Juve was brought up by a conversation in low tones between M. Annion and M. Lepine. Hiding behind a tree, he listened attentively.

"Well, you know the last news?"

"Yes," declared M. Annion, "but it seems very extraordinary."

"There is no doubt, however, this Grand Duchess Alexandra should be well posted ... now. She has formally promised the King that his diamond will be found in the possession of our man ... who will be under arrest this evening...."

"You believe that?" questioned M. Lepine, with a skeptical smile.

"Well, I believe in the arrest—that is certain; but whether we shall find the diamond is another matter."

Juve's first impulse was to make himself known to his chief; but on second thoughts he decided to keep silent. He had gathered from the conversation that the arrest of Fantomas was imminent. That, of course, was satisfactory in every respect.

The conversation continued and, as he listened, Juve could not help smiling.

"They are all right! They realize the work I've done and they want me to reap the reward of it."

M. Lepine had, in fact, asked M. Annion:

"You are quite sure Juve will be at the Gare du Nord this evening?"

"Quite sure; I have given him orders to that effect."

Juve decided it was not worth while going home to get the order. Evidently they counted upon him to be at the Station at nine o'clock; ostensibly to assist at the departure of the King, in reality to arrest Fantomas.

The detective moved away, there was not a moment to spare. Whatever happened it was absolutely necessary that he should have an interview with Lady Beltham.

In her small oriental salon, the Grand Duchess Alexandra sat chatting with Wulf, about five o'clock in the evening.

"Really, Monsieur Wulf, you are an extraordinary man, and your intelligence is amazing."

"Madame is too indulgent," replied Wulf, beaming.

"Oh no, I am only fair to you; I know you are a man of value and that is why I have been at pains to re-establish you in the good graces of your sovereign."

Since her return to the America Hotel, Alexandra had been exceedingly busy. To begin with, she had received a visit from her lover, the Marquis de Serac. A long conversation in low tones had taken place, and the Marquis had left her, nervous and agitated. The adventuress had then put on a smiling face to meet the ridiculous Wulf, and after some mysterious and complicated business with him had been transacted, she had ended by loading the officer with outrageous compliments and saying:

"And now, thanks to you, Monsieur Wulf, the elusive Fantomas is about to be arrested. Be assured the King will give you the very highest proof of his gratitude for this service. Your position at the Court of Hesse-Weimar will be more important than ever."

* * * * *

Night had fallen and the lamps of the Paris streets were lit up.

At the corner of the Boulevard Malesherbes and the Avenue de Villiers, not far from the door of the America Hotel, a man was seated on a bench; he seemed to be merely resting; but in reality he was closely watching each individual who entered and left the Hotel.

This man was Juve.

He began rubbing his hands with a satisfied air.

"Good, good! The evening is beginning well.... There is one important thing for me to do now; shadow Lady Beltham, and not lose sight of her for a single moment, from the time she leaves this Hotel until...."



CHAPTER XXXI

THE DEATH WATCH

In her ears an incessant buzzing. On her throat a weight which stifled her. In her mouth a gag which obstructed her breathing and tore her lips. Over her eyes a heavy bandage. Her arms were bound at the wrists, her body was bruised by heavy thongs, and her ankles bleeding from the pressure of cords.

Marie Pascal was gradually regaining consciousness. She tried to make a movement, but her body could not respond; she wanted to cry out, but her voice died away in her throat. At first she thought it was all a nightmare, then memory returned and she recalled every detail of her strange and sinister adventure.

She saw herself starting with Mme. Ceiron to call on Juve. The concierge had said:

"Don't worry, my dear, I know the way. Monsieur Juve gave me his address."

At length, after a long walk, Mme. Ceiron made her climb the stairs of a decent looking house. On the way up she remembered feeling faint and that the concierge had given her salts to smell. Following that came complete unconsciousness, out of which she woke to hear a grim menacing voice exclaim:

"I am Fantomas! I condemn you to death in the interest of my cause!"

She was in the hands of Fantomas!

And then she fainted again, but not until after a flood of light had been let into her mind. In a flash she understood that Fantomas himself must have been the mainspring of the incomprehensible events enveloping the King's visit to Paris. Furthermore, she divined that Mme. Ceiron and Fantomas were the same person. It was she who offered the salts, undoubtedly inducing her unconsciousness. The sound of a steady tic-tac she recognized as coming from a nearby clock. Where was she?