A squad of policemen now arrived on the scene, and without much difficulty succeeded in dispersing the mob. * * * * * "Well, Juve." "Well, Fandor." "To tell you the truth, Juve," admitted the journalist, "I am beginning to get a little uneasy. However, this manifestation is against Frederick-Christian, not against me...." Juve interrupted. "Idiot, don't you understand what's happening? Either one of two things. You are the King, and therefore in the opinion of the public the murderer of Susy d'Orsel, or you are not the King, and in that case you are an impostor, which will make it all the more likely that you will be considered as the murderer." "Not much," cried Fandor. "You seem to forget it was I who picked up ..." "Who knows that?" continued Juve. "Why, my dear fellow, think for a moment, if the King is guilty, and even if he is not, he will be only too glad to throw the responsibility for this tragedy upon your shoulders.... That would let him out of it completely. The situation could not be much worse. Suppose that this evening, to-morrow, at any moment some one finds out that you are not the King, you will then not only be suspected of the murder of Susy d'Orsel, but you will be accused of having done away with the King.... Where is the King? You haven't the least idea. Then what answer could you make?" "The devil," murmured Fandor, suddenly growing pale. "I didn't think of that. You are right, Juve, I am in a bad fix." There was a moment of silence. The two men looked at one another, troubled and anxious. Then Fandor, struck by a sudden inspiration, seized his hat and cane. "What are you doing?" inquired Juve. "I ... Why I'm going to clear out." "How?... The King's apartment is surrounded by Secret Service men.... They take good care of His Majesty.... You were forgetting that!" "That's true," said Fandor, depressed. "So now I am actually a prisoner. Look here, Juve, what has become of this Frederick-Christian? Haven't you any clue to follow?" "No." "He can't have vanished into thin air. We must find him if it is humanly possible." "That's my opinion, Fandor, but I am wondering how." And then suddenly to each of them the same thought occurred. Fantomas! Was it not probable that the strange crime of which Susy d'Orsel was the victim, the mysterious disappearance of the King, might be attributed to this enigmatic and redoubtable bandit? It would not have been the first time that the journalist and the detective had put forth a similar hypothesis. Fantomas had always symbolized the very essence of crime itself. CHAPTER XI ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN STATIONS