Everything denoted that the house had been the scene of a terrible struggle, of one of those savage conflicts which only too often stain the barriere drinking dens with blood. The lights had been extinguished at the beginning of the strife, but a blazing fire of pine logs illuminated even the furthest corners of the room. Tables, glasses, decanters, household utensils, and stools had been overturned, thrown in every direction, trodden upon, shivered into fragments. Near the fireplace two men lay stretched upon the floor. They were lying motionless upon their backs, with their arms crossed. A third was extended in the middle of the room. A woman crouched upon the lower steps of a staircase leading to the floor above. She had thrown her apron over her head, and was uttering inarticulate moans. Finally, facing the police, and with his back turned to an open door leading into an adjoining room, stood a young man, in front of whom a heavy oaken table formed, as it were, a rampart. He was of medium stature, and wore a full beard. His clothes, not unlike those of a railway porter, were torn to fragments, and soiled with dust and wine and blood. This certainly was the murderer. The expression on his face was terrible. A mad fury blazed in his eyes, and a convulsive sneer distorted his features. On his neck and cheek were two wounds which bled profusely. In his right hand, covered with a handkerchief, he held a pistol, which he aimed at the intruders. “Surrender!” cried Gevrol. The man’s lips moved, but in spite of a visible effort he could not articulate a syllable. “Don’t do any mischief,” continued the inspector, “we are in force, you can not escape; so lay down your arms.” “I am innocent,” exclaimed the man, in a hoarse, strained voice. “Naturally, but we do not see it.” “I have been attacked; ask that old woman. I defended myself; I have killed--I had a right to do so; it was in self-defense!” The gesture with which he enforced these words was so menacing that one of the agents drew Gevrol violently aside, saying, as he did so; “Take care, General, take care! The revolver has five barrels, and we have heard but two shots.” But the inspector was inaccessible to fear; he freed himself from the grasp of his subordinate and again stepped forward, speaking in a still calmer tone. “No foolishness, my lad; if your case is a good one, which is possible, after all, don’t spoil it.” A frightful indecision betrayed itself on the young man’s features. He held Gevrol’s life at the end of his finger, was he about to press the trigger? No, he suddenly threw his weapon to the floor, exclaiming: “Come and take me!” And turning as he spoke he darted into the adjoining room, hoping doubtless to escape by some means of egress which he knew of. Gevrol had expected this movement. He sprang after him with outstretched arms, but the table retarded his pursuit. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “the wretch escapes us!”