“Well, General, what do you think of the investigations into explosives? Lichtenbach is at the head of the French syndicate of mining exploitations. In Russia, Austria, and Spain, he has considerable interests. Now, in the composition of a powder, easy to control in results, capable of being handled without harm, and of very moderate cost—and all these advantages were claimed by the Trémont powder, as was seen from the report read by the General, at the Academy of Science, six months ago—was there not something to tempt the covetousness of business men, ever on the look-out for progressive and remunerative processes? Trémont had received splendid offers, but had always refused even the initial overtures. Then he explained to Graff and myself his intention of promoting a company, the working of which should be exclusively French. It was a point of honour with him that his own country should profit from his discovery.” “The fine fellow! Just like him!” “He was well aware that he had found an opportunity of making a fortune, but he did not wish foreign money to have a hand in it. Besides, at the same time, he had almost completed his investigations into a new war-powder. He would not throw the commercial affair on the market until he had given his new explosive to the Government. He said to us: ‘Both powders at once. The one that will make me rich, and the one that will make us conquerors. In this way I shall be pardoned for the benefits I shall reap from the first, in favour of the prestige the second will give our Army.’” “Yes; secret experiments had already taken place with his war-powder. Never had my colleagues or myself seen such destructive effects. Nothing could have resisted an artillery firing projectiles charged with this powder! And the secret has vanished in smoke! It is a great misfortune for France!” A strange smile passed over Graff’s mouth, and, with a gesture of dissent, he said— “Ah! Who knows?” “What do you mean?” “Yes, it is not absolutely certain that the secret is lost! Perhaps some one possesses the General’s formulæ in duplicate.” “Who?” exclaimed the Minister. Graff rubbed his hands together and replied— “My nephew!” “Marcel? Has he said anything to you?” “Yes. A week ago.” At these words Baradier turned pale. Turning to his brother-in-law, with a look of anguish, he exclaimed— “Never let the slightest suspicion of this be known! Repeat to no one what you have just said! They have killed Trémont! Do you want them to kill my son?”