“The present business being now cleared up, and Fantômas responsible for yet another attempted murder, let us pass on to serious matters. _This_ is not really important, as it only concerns two of his individual enemies, you and me ... You were telling me just now, that M. Moche was guilty of the bank messenger’s murder?... h’m, that’s not so sure. Come, Monsieur Fandor, just give me a little information about the man’s associates.” At the detective’s invitation Fandor had at last installed himself comfortably in a big armchair. “Moche’s associates,” he said, “are a deplorably bad lot; to begin with, amongst other notorious ruffians, I can give you the names, or rather the nicknames, of several, ‘Beardy,’ ‘the Beadle,’ ‘the Cellarman,’—women too, ‘Big Ernestine,’ little Nini, who, I told you before, has for her fancy man, the bully Paulet—calls himself a stone-mason, even works at his trade in his spare moments, for I know Moche has lately given him several jobs to do; then there is ‘Beauty Boy,’ another choice blackguard, and ...” But Tom Bob suddenly interrupted his informant. “I am dog tired,” he declared, “and half dropping asleep. Listen here, Monsieur Fandor, my own opinion is, an investigation is advisable before deciding on anything. I give you my word I will investigate ...” CHAPTER XII A STROKE OF GENIUS The American detective Tom Bob was no ordinary man. The very first day after his arrival he had signalized his presence and drawn public attention to himself in a manner at once original and redounding greatly to his credit. Within a few hours of landing on French soil he had shown his mettle by the arrest of a dangerous malefactor, a professional criminal, “Beauty Boy,” the apache. The same day he had adroitly escaped an abominable attempt on his life, and, to crown all, in the course of a series of interviews accorded to the reporters of the different newspapers, he had, in direct contradiction to the generally received opinion, stoutly maintained that the ex-journalist Fandor, the bosom friend of the man Juve, now incarcerated in the prison of _La Santé_, was a very honest man, the last person to have committed the crimes imputed to him. * * * * * For several days, in fact up to the time Tom Bob had come to divert the public curiosity, the Inspectors of the Criminal Investigation Bureau had carried out the most minute investigations at the house where the bank messenger’s murder was supposed, if not to have been committed, at any rate to have been planned and prepared. For whole days together police-officers in plain clothes pursued careful inquiries, questioning the inmates, even going so far as to collect evidence as to the past life and antecedents of each of the tenants.