way.” 

 “On other people’s money.” 

 “Quite so. That would be so simple. But here, I am joking, and you are, no doubt, in a hurry. So let us come to business, Ganimard. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? 

 “The Cahorn affair,” declared Ganimard, frankly. 

 “Ah! Wait, one moment. You see I have had so many affairs! First, let me fix in my mind the circumstances of this particular case....Ah! yes, now I have it. The Cahorn affair, Malaquis castle, Seine-Inférieure....Two Rubens, a Watteau, and a few trifling articles.” 

 “Trifling!” 

 “Oh! ma foi, all that is of slight importance. But it suffices to know that the affair interests you. How can I serve you, Ganimard?” 

 “Must I explain to you what steps the authorities have taken in the matter?” 

 “Not at all. I have read the newspapers and I will frankly state that you have made very little progress.” 

 “And that is the reason I have come to see you.” 

 “I am entirely at your service.” 

 “In the first place, the Cahorn affair was managed by you?” 

 “From A to Z.” 

 “The letter of warning? the telegram?” 

 “All mine. I ought to have the receipts somewhere.” 

 Arsène opened the drawer of a small table of plain white wood which, with the bed and stool, constituted all the furniture in his cell, and took therefrom two scraps of paper which he handed to Ganimard. 

 “Ah!” exclaimed the detective, in surprise, “I thought you were closely guarded and searched, and I find that you read the newspapers and collect postal receipts.” 

 “Bah! these people are so stupid! They open the lining of my vest, they examine the soles of my shoes, they sound the walls of my 

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