“Will you be good enough to accompany us, Monsieur?” “And why?” I inquired. “We have been commissioned to conduct you to M. d’Argenson, lieutenant of police,” he answered. “He will doubtless explain everything to you, Monsieur.” “I am under arrest, then?” I asked, with a sinking heart. “If you choose to call it so, Monsieur,” and the man bowed. I heard the concierge chuckling savagely in her chair behind me. “Very well,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “I shall be very glad to see M. le Comte d’Argenson. But I have some clothing and other property in my room here which I do not care to have stolen.” “We will seal the door, Monsieur, if you will show us the room. Nothing will then be disturbed in your absence.” I led the way to the room and we entered. “We were also instructed to bring to M. d’Argenson a girl named Anne Ribaut,” said the fellow, looking about the room and seeing it empty. “Where is she, Monsieur?” “I do not know,” I answered bitterly. “I left her here an hour since. When I returned she had disappeared. Look at the condition of the room, Monsieur, and judge if she went willingly.” They looked about the room with practised eyes, which took in every detail. “Have you a theory, Monsieur?” asked one of them at last. “Only that the woman who is concierge knows more about it than she cares to tell,” I answered. “I was endeavoring to force a confession from her at the point of my sword when you interrupted me.” “Ah,” and the man smiled. “We must look into that. If she has anything to tell she will tell it, Monsieur, rest assured of that. We have a more effective method of securing confessions than the sword-point,” and he smiled again. They made another careful survey of the place, disturbing nothing, and then, motioning me to follow, left the room and sealed the door behind them. We descended to the court, but found that the concierge was no longer in her lodge. “We shall get her, Monsieur, never fear,” one of them remarked. “No one can escape us in Paris.” I doubted this somewhat, but deemed it best to say nothing, and followed them into the street. They led the way to the Rue St. Honoré, turned down the Bons Enfants, and entered at one of the smaller doors of the Palais Royal. In a moment we were in an ante-chamber which was crowded with people, many of whom shot curious glances at me as we passed. Here there was a short delay, and then we were shown into a room where a man sat writing at a table. I looked at him with interest, for that this was the renowned Comte Voyer d’Argenson, who had organized the police system of Paris into the most perfect in the world, I did not doubt. At the first glance I was struck by nothing so much as his surpassing ugliness, for his face was horribly disfigured by small-pox, and yet when I looked again this impression faded imperceptibly and I saw only a man with kindly eyes and winning mouth.