It might easily be supposed, and this we believe is the view taken at Police Headquarters, that for a motive as yet unknown, a motive the judicial examination will certainly bring to light, the artist has poisoned his patroness; and, in order to put the authorities on the wrong scent (perhaps he hoped she would leave the studio before the death-agony commenced), he has devised this species of tableau, invented the story of the masked men. In fact, the doctor who first attended him has declared that the puncture, clumsily made, might very well have been done by Jacques Dollon himself. It is worth noting that not a soul saw the Baroness de Vibray enter Monsieur Dollon's house yesterday evening: as a rule, she comes in her motor-car, and all the neighbourhood can hear her arrival. It seems evident that Jacques Dollon will abandon the line of defence he has adopted: it can hardly be described as rational. There is little doubt but that we shall have sensational revelations regarding the crime of the rue Norvins. _Last Hour_ Mademoiselle Elizabeth Dollon, to whom Police Headquarters has telegraphed that a serious accident has happened to her brother, has sent a reply telegram from Lausanne to the effect that she will return to-night. The unfortunate girl is probably ignorant of all that has occurred. Nevertheless, we believe that two detectives have left at once for the frontier, where they will meet her, and shadow her as far as Paris, in case she should get news on the way of what had occurred, and should either attempt to escape, or make an attempt on her life. Decidedly, to-morrow promises to be a day full of vicissitudes. * * * * * This article, published on the first page of _La Capitale_, was signed: JEROME FANDOR. II THOMERY'S TWO LOVES Two days before the sinister drama, details of which Jerome Fandor had given in _La Capitale_, the smart little town house inhabited by the Baroness de Vibray, in the Avenue Henri-Martin, assumed a festive appearance. This did not surprise her neighbours, for they knew the owner of this charming residence was very much a woman of the world, whose reception-rooms were constantly opened to the many distinguished Parisians forming her circle of acquaintances. It was seven in the evening when the Baroness, dressed for dinner, passed from her own room into the small drawing-room adjoining. Crossing a carpet so thick and soft that it deadened the sound of footsteps, she pressed the button of an electric bell beside the fireplace. A major-domo, of the most correct appearance, presented himself. "The Baroness rang for me?" Madame de Vibray, who had instinctively sought the flattering approval of her mirror, half turned: "I wish to know if anyone called this afternoon, Antoine?" "For the Baroness?" "Of course!" she replied, a note of impatience in her voice: "I want to know if anyone called to see _me_ this afternoon?"