sixty-seven francs about him, and the younger one, two louis.

Rarely had the police found themselves in the presence of so strange an
affair, without the slightest clue to guide them. Of course, there was
the fact itself, as evidenced by the bodies of the three victims;
but the authorities were quite ignorant of the circumstances that had
attended and of the motive that had inspired the crime. Certainly, they
might hope with the powerful means of investigation at their disposal
to finally arrive at the truth in the course of time, and after repeated
efforts. But, in the mean while, all was mystery, and so strangely did
the case present itself that it could not safely be said who was really
responsible for the horrible tragedy at the Poivriere.

The murderer had certainly been arrested; but if he persisted in his
obstinacy, how were they to ascertain his name? He protested that he had
merely killed in self-defense. How could it be shown that such was not
the case? Nothing was known concerning the victims; one of whom had with
his dying breath accused himself. Then again, an inexplicable influence
tied the Widow Chupin's tongue. Two women, one of whom had lost an
earring valued at 5,000 francs, had witnessed the struggle--then
disappeared. An accomplice, after two acts of unheard-of audacity, had
also made his escape. And all these people--the women, the murderer,
the keeper of the saloon, the accomplice, and the victims--were equally
strange and mysterious, equally liable not to be what they seemed.

Perhaps the commissary of police thought he would spend a very
unpleasant quarter of an hour at the prefecture when he reported the
case. Certainly, he spoke of the crime in a very despondent tone.

"It will now be best," he said at last, "to transport these three bodies