"After all, I'd rather tell you the exact truth, then you can't complain of me. You see, it's this way: Yesterday the little girl came and said to me, 'Madame Ceiron, I'm so upset and unhappy, and I'm bothered to death with questions, too, and then, this King who isn't a King ... I've a good mind to pack my trunk and go away.' So I said to her, if that's the case, go by all means--she had paid a quarter's advance--and when you are ready just come back--and that's all there is to it, Monsieur." "You have no idea where she went, Mme. Ceiron?" "Well, I heard her tell the cab-driver to take her to the Montparnasse Station." "Do you know if she has any friends or relations in the country?" "Ah!--that's a good idea, Monsieur, now I come to think of it, she always went on her holidays from the same station, probably to visit some of her family, but where they live I haven't the least idea." Fandor had an inspiration. "Maybe she has received letters which will tell us! Have you the key of her room?" "Yes, I have the key; would you like to go up?" "Of course!--I must make a search through her belongings." * * * * * Jerome Fandor felt strangely agitated in entering the simple room of the young lace-maker. It has been frequently said that the souls of people can be divined from the atmosphere of their homes, and if this is true, the journalist was surely not mistaken when at the Royal Palace he had experienced a rather warm feeling for Marie Pascal. The room showed no sign of precipitate abandonment, nor any preparation for a long absence. Her work-basket and cushions were all in place, and one would have expected her return at any moment. But alas! Fandor could harbor no illusion regarding her. Her flight was evidently to escape a probable arrest by Juve. A minute inspection of Marie's papers disclosed nothing of importance; but upon opening the last drawer in her desk he found, hidden under envelopes and letter paper, a number of small objects. "Ah! the devil!" he exclaimed. The objects were jewels, brooches, rings, earrings and also a large key, evidently of an apartment door. One glance at the jewels was enough. Fandor had seen and admired them upon the person of Susy d'Orsel during the supper which preceded her tragic death. "My God! there's no doubt now," he muttered, "Marie Pascal is the accomplice of Fantomas." And then the journalist decided upon a theory to account for her having left the jewels behind. She had probably arranged to have them found among somebody else's things and thus to throw suspicion from herself, just as she had attempted to leave the famous chemise in the Marquis de Serac's laundry. "What will Juve say to this? I must see him right away!" He turned to the concierge: "Madame Ceiron, I realize our search here will be without result, so I will leave you now and probably return about ten to-night with my friend Juve." "Very good, Monsieur. You found nothing, I suppose?"