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 Fantômas … if that is possible."
Chapter 25 "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 26 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
