another, "the notorious Hertzog was arrested."

The real criminal goes quietly into the café, and orders his absinthe,
as Dupré had done. And the policeman marches up and down keeping an eye
on the guiltless. So runs the world.

There were few customers in the café, for people feared the vengeance
of Hertzog's friends. They expected some fine day that the café would
be blown to atoms, and they preferred to be taking their coffee and
cognac somewhere else when that time came. It was evident that M.
Sonne, the proprietor of the café, had done a poor stroke of business
for himself when he gave information to the police regarding the
whereabouts of Hertzog, notwithstanding the fact that his café became
suddenly the most noted one in the city, and that it now enjoyed the
protection of the Government.

Dupré seldom looked at the proprietor, who sat at the desk, nor at the
waiter, who had helped the week before to overpower Hertzog. He seemed
more intent on watching the minion of the law who paced back and forth
in front of the door, although he once glanced at the other minion who
sat almost out of sight at the back of the café, scrutinising all who
came in, especially those who had parcels of any kind. The café was
well guarded, and M. Sonne, at the desk, appeared to be satisfied with
the protection he was receiving.

When customers did come in they seldom sat at the round metal tables,
but went direct to the zinc-covered bar, ordered their fluid and drank
it standing, seeming in a hurry to get away. They nodded to M. Sonne
and were evidently old frequenters of the café who did not wish him to
think they had deserted him in this crisis, nevertheless they all had