After that the conversation turned on a more enticing and more serious subject. Tom Bob had been announced by the Parisian Press as the declared antagonist of Fantômas. It was natural to question him as to the attitude he proposed to adopt towards the notorious brigand. But the American detective was not to be drawn, entrenching himself behind what he called “professional secrecy.” Mrs. Bigelow gave a groan of terror. “Great heavens!” she cried, “supposing Fantômas were in this train and knew that you were here, too, Mr. Tom Bob, and chose to blow us all up, it would be appalling!” “It would be a very natural thing for Fantômas to do, madam,” the detective replied, “but for certain reasons I am well assured we have nothing to fear on that head.” The young Frenchman, who some while before had accosted Tom Bob, was just returning from the breakfast car, a fat cigar in his mouth, eyes shining, and hat cocked rakishly over one ear. “First place,” he began in a quizzical voice, “Mister detective, you have an easy job before you, for you must know Fantômas is in gaol.” “Why, yes, that’s true enough,” admitted Mr. Van Buren. “Still, as Mr. Tom Bob is so clever, it’s to be hoped he’ll meet him all the same and finish by arresting his man.” ... “Egad! it’s deuced extraordinary,” suddenly exclaimed Ascott, “here’s a go, I can’t find my pocketbook.” Tom Bob gave a start. “Look carefully, sir, look again; what you say is really serious, you must make sure.” With a pale face Ascott searched through all his pockets—everywhere. “No, there’s no doubt whatever, my pocket-book has disappeared; it’s not that I had a great deal of money in it, but the thing is very unpleasant.” Tom Bob lit a cigarette with a nonchalant air. “Now that it’s known for sure your pocket-book has disappeared, the only thing left to do is to get it back; that’s not very difficult perhaps.” All eyes turned in astonishment at Tom Bob, who went on: “A detective, and above all an American detective, owes it to himself to discover in any assemblage of people, no matter what, any pickpockets therein, and this at the first glance.” The young Frenchman started poking merciless fun at the sententious and dogmatic language used by the American detective: “And pray, sir, by what do you know them?” Tom Bob looked the youth up and down from head to foot, and said nothing for a moment or two. Then he replied: “By their boots.” His audience held their sides. Decidedly Mr. Tom Bob was an original and diverting travelling companion, and everybody crowded to the far end of the corridor where he stood ensconced in a corner. The American detective proceeded to harangue his listeners.