The other looked doubtful: “H’m; it’s a near thing, especially as we’ve got to be finished by midnight! I’ve had to enlist casual labour—chaps that were getting ready for a night under the trees. There’s nothing wrong about that, I suppose?” “Let me have a look at them!” A second or two later the ganger who had enlisted Fandor came up to the journalist, who was working away very hard and conscientiously, all alone, away from the other roadmen. He stared at him for a minute without a word. “You don’t know how to work, my man,” he said at last, “it’s not worth twopence, what you’re doing!” “But, sir,” protested Fandor, very much surprised; “I’m doing my best.” “Well, then, your best’s not good enough; you’re not getting on!” Then, as if coming to a sudden decision: “No, you’re no good at all and now the chief has been jawing me for taking on outsiders. Here, here’s forty sous; clear out!” There was nothing to be said; moreover, the instant he had fingered his forty sous, a fortune in his present plight, Fandor lost all interest in the work on hand, good, bad or indifferent. “Right you are, sir!” was all he said, “I’m off; many thanks all the same”—and slipping the two franc piece in his pocket, he walked away, pursued by the foreman’s scrutinizing and suspicious gaze. Scarcely had he disappeared before the engineer—it was evidently he who had ordered his dismissal—again appeared from among the shadows. He advanced to the shore of the lake, nodding familiarly to the men working there, and on reaching the water’s edge, gave a shrill, short, sharp whistle, then stood quite still, waiting. The night was dark, without moon or stars. In a few seconds after he had blown his whistle, there showed up on the dark waters of the lake a shadowy, fantastic shape. It was indistinctly seen at first, but it approached so rapidly that very soon it became easy to make out what it was—a boat of rubber, a collapsible boat such as explorers use. A man was on board, rowing silently and soundlessly. Soon the figure grew plainer and its outline could be vaguely discerned, the boat was entering the zone illuminated by the acetylene flares. Then the mysterious rower rose to his feet. What would Fandor’s feelings have been, had he been there to see? The man who stood in this mysterious craft, who was approaching this scene of impromptu road-making, issuing from the impenetrable shadows of the lake, was clad from head to foot in a suit of black-close-fitting tights. His shoulders were draped in a dark cloak, the face was invisible behind a cowl, a black mask! A figure of horror, a very incarnation of crime, a form of terror without a name! It was the form of Fantômas, come in the night to inspect the work of the roadmen engaged in preparations for to-morrow’s fête! * * * * *