you."
"Followed me?" Juve exclaimed. "Where from?"
"From your rooms."
"You mean, and you may as well own up to it at once, that you were shadowing me."
"Well, yes, M. Juve, it is true," Fandor confessed, all in one breath. "I was shadowing you: I do every day!"
Juve was dumbfounded.
"Every day? And I never saw you! Gad, you are jolly clever! And may I enquire why you have been exercising this supervision over me?"
Jérôme Fandor hung his head.
"Forgive me," he faltered; "I have been very stupid. I thought you — I thought you were — Fantômas!"
The idea tickled the detective so much that he dropped back into a chair to laugh at his ease.
"'Pon my word," he said, "you have an imagination! And what made you suppose that I was Fantômas?"
"M. Juve," Fandor said earnestly, "I made a vow that I would find out the truth, and discover the scoundrel who has made such awful havoc of my life. But I did not know where to begin. From all you have said I realised that Fantômas was a most extraordinarily clever man; I did not know anyone who could be cleverer than you; and so I watched you! It was merely logical!"
Far from being angry, Juve was rather flattered.
"I am amazed by what you have just told me, my boy," he said with a smile. "In the first place your reasoning is not at all bad. Of course it is obvious that I cannot suspect myself of being Fantômas, but I quite admit that if I were in your place I might make the supposition, wild as it may seem. And, in the next place, you have shadowed me without my becoming aware of the fact, and that is very good indeed: a proof that you are uncommonly smart." He looked at the lad attentively for a few moments, and then went on more gravely: "Are you satisfied now that your hypothesis was wrong? Or do you still suspect me?"
"No, I don't suspect you now," Fandor declared; "not since I saw you come into this house; Fantômas certainly would not have come to search Gurn's rooms because —— "
He stopped, and Juve, who was looking at him keenly, did not make him finish what he was saying.
"Shall I tell you something?" he said at last. "If you continue to display as much thought and initiative in the career you have chosen as you have just displayed, you will very soon be the first newspaper detective of the day!" He jumped up and led the boy off. "Come along: I've got to go to the Law Courts at once."
"You've found out something fresh?"
"I'm going to ask them to call an interesting witness in the Gurn affair."
Rain had been falling heavily all the morning and afternoon, but within the last few minutes it had almost stopped. Dollon, the steward, put his hand out of the window and found that only a few drops were falling now from the heavy grey sky.
He was an invaluable servant, and a few months after the death of the Marquise de Langrune, the Baronne de Vibray had gladly offered him a situation, and a cottage on her estate at Querelles.
He walked across the room, and called his son.
"Jacques, would you like to come with me? I am going down to the river to see that the sluices have been opened properly. The banks are anything but sound, and these rains will flood us out one of these days."
The steward and his son went down the garden towards the stream which formed one boundary of Mme. de Vibray's park.
"Look, father," Jacques exclaimed, "the postman is calling us."
The postman, a crusty but good-hearted fellow, came hurrying up to the steward.
"You do make me run, M. Dollon," he complained. "I went to your house this morning to take you a letter, but you weren't there."
"You might have left it with anybody."
"Excuse me!" the man retorted; "it's against the regulations: I've got an official letter for you, and I can only give it to you yourself," and he held out an envelope which Dollon tore open.
"Magistrates' office?" he said enquiringly, as he glanced at the heading of the notepaper. "Who can be writing to me from the Law Courts?" He read the letter aloud:
"Sir: As time does not permit of a regular summons being sent to you by an usher of the court, I beg you to be so good as to come to Paris immediately, the day after to-morrow if possible, and attend at my office, where your depositions are absolutely required to conclude a case in which you are interested. Please bring, without exception, all the papers and documents entrusted to you by the Clerk of Assizes at Cahors, at the conclusion of the Langrune enquiry."
"It is signed Germain Fuselier," Dollon remarked. "I've often seen his name in the papers. He is a very well-known magistrate, and is employed in many criminal cases." He read the letter through once more, and turned to the postman. "Will you take a glass of wine, Muller?"
"That's a thing I never say 'no' to."
"Well, go into the house with Jacques, and while he is attending to you I will write a reply telegram which you can take to the office for me."
While the man was quenching his thirst Dollon wrote his reply:
"Will leave Verrières to-morrow evening by 7.20 train, arriving Paris 5 a.m. Wire appointment at your office to me at Hôtel Francs-Bourgeois, 152 rue du Bac."
He read the message over, signed it "Dollon" and considered.
"I wonder what they can want me for? Oh, if only they have found out something about the Langrune affair, how glad I shall be!"
XXIV
Under Lock and Key
After the preliminary examination as to his identity and so on, Gurn had been transferred to the Santé prison. At first the prisoner seemed to have terrible difficulty in accustoming himself to the rigours of confinement; he suffered from alternate paroxysms of rage and despair, but by sheer strength of character he fought these down. As a prisoner on remand he was entitled to the privilege of a separate cell, also during the first forty-eight hours he had been able to have his meals sent in from outside. Since then, however, his money had given out, and he was obliged to content himself with the ordinary prison dietary. But Gurn was not fastidious; this man whom Lady Beltham had singled out, or accepted, as her lover had often given proofs of an education and an intelligence above the average, yet now he appeared quite at ease in the atmosphere of a prison.
Gurn was walking quickly and alone round the exercise yard, when a breathless voice sounded in his ear.
"'Gad, Gurn, you know how to march! I was going to join you for a bit, but I could not keep up with you."
Gurn turned and saw old Siegenthal, the warder in charge of his division, in whose custody he was particularly placed.
"My word!" the old fellow panted, "anybody could tell
