Two policemen came to arrest Papa Chibou that very afternoon. Mogen had missed Napoleon, and he was a shrewd man. There was not the slightest doubt of Papa Chibou’s guilt. There stood Napoleon in the corner of his room, gazing pensively out over the housetops. The police bundled the overwhelmed and confused Papa Chibou into the police patrol, and with him, as damning evidence, Napoleon. In his cell in the city prison Papa Chibou sat with his spirit caved in. To him jails and judges and justice were terrible and mysterious affairs. He wondered if he would be guillotined; perhaps not, since his long life had been one of blameless conduct; but the least he could expect, he reasoned, was a long sentence to hard labour on Devil’s Island, and guillotining had certain advantages over that. Perhaps it would be better to be guillotined, he told himself, now that Napoleon was sure to be melted up. The keeper who brought him his meal of stew was a pessimist of jocular tendencies. “A pretty pickle,” said the keeper; “and at your age too. You must be a very wicked old man to go about stealing dummies. What will be safe now? One may expect to find the Eiffel Tower missing any morning. Dummy stealing! What a career! We have had a man in here who stole a trolley car, and one who made off with the anchor of a steamship, and even one who pilfered a hippopotamus from a zoo, but never one who stole a dummy--and an old one-eared dummy, at that! It is an affair extraordinary!” “And what did they do to the gentleman who stole the hippopotamus?” inquired Papa Chibou tremulously. The keeper scratched his head to indicate thought. “I think,” he said, “that they boiled him alive. Either that or they transported him for life to Morocco; I don’t recall exactly.” Papa Chibou’s brow grew damp. “It was a trial most comical, I can assure you,” went on the keeper. “The judges were Messieurs Bertouf, Goblin, and Perouse--very amusing fellows, all three of them. They had fun with the prisoner; how I laughed. Judge Bertouf said, in sentencing him, ‘We must be severe with you, pilferer of hippopotamuses. We must make of you an example. This business of hippopotamus pilfering is getting all too common in Paris.’ They are witty fellows, those judges.” Papa Chibou grew a shade paler. “The Terrible Trio?” he asked. “The Terrible Trio,” replied the keeper cheerfully. “Will they be my judges?” asked Papa Chibou. “Most assuredly,” promised the keeper, and strolled away humming happily and rattling his big keys. Papa Chibou knew then that there was no hope for him. Even into the Musée Pratoucy the reputation of those three judges had penetrated, and it was a sinister reputation indeed. They were three ancient, grim men who had fairly earned their title, The Terrible Trio, by the severity of their sentences; evildoers blanched at their names, and this was a matter of pride to them. Shortly the keeper came back; he was grinning.