"It appears that the young woman at first implicated in this affair has been for a fortnight at Menton with M. Pap----, a deputy from the banks of the Danube. They have both written from that place to mutual friends. The inquiry makes no progress; on the contrary..." Other papers, that I then had the curiosity to examine, had embroidered my friend's death with still madder tales. As the police, with very good reason, made no communications to the press, the journalists pushed unreason to insanity; then, as their imaginations could go no further, they were silent. In reality, the mixing up of Blanche B---- with the story was due solely to the chatter of a young clerk, a neighbour of M. James Sandy Rose, who had noticed a woman's dress of white material in the room. I recount, at the end of the volume, the facts which disturbed this pubescent imagination. Neither the police, who immediately lost interest in the affair, nor justice, which had never taken any, would have been able to implicate anybody in a "mystery" which, if it is really a mystery, is not one of those that police or magistrates can resolve. For some days following, _Le Temps_ left the Rue de Médicis alone. At the end of a fortnight, a very talkative young journalist, accompanied by an old gentleman who, like him, took notes in a pocketbook, but said nothing, came and rang at my door. He came with the intention of questioning me. I was willing enough to reply that M. James S. Rose had died of apoplexy, or, at least, suddenly; that I was his friend, and that he had made me his heir; that the rumours of crime were absurd, and the rumours of "mystery" ridiculous. "What is there," I said, "more normal than death?" The old gentleman acquiesced, while the young journalist murmured-- "And yet...." "The only thing of interest," I continued, "in this banal story, sad, perhaps, for me alone, is that M. James Sandy Rose leaves an unpublished work which in his will he has charged me to bring out. I am going to do this...." I threw a persuasive glance at the young journalist. "It is one of the most curious books I have ever read, and, though the author was my familiar friend, it is a revelation to me...." "Really?" "It is indeed so. The public, without knowing what there is in the book, await it with impatience." "Ah!" "When you have read it, when you have merely seen it, you will agree with me." This innocent advertisement was duly inserted in _Le Temps_ and in _Le Nouveau Courrier des Provinces_, to which the old gentleman had been asked to contribute. I gained some moments of amusement, nothing more.