Last of all, the porter was brought in and treated like the passengers, but more distinctly as a prisoner.  He had a guard all to himself; and it seemed as though he was the object of peculiar suspicion.  It had no great effect upon him, for, while the rest of the party were very plainly sad, and a prey to lively apprehension, the porter sat dull and unmoved, with the stolid, sluggish, unconcerned aspect of a man just roused from sound sleep and relapsing into slumber, who takes little notice of what is passing around.

Meanwhile, the sleeping-car, with its contents, especially the corpse of the victim, was shunted into a siding, and sentries were placed on it at both ends.  Seals had been affixed upon the entrance doors, so that the interior might be kept inviolate until it could be visited and examined by the Chef de la Surete, or Chief of the Detective Service.  Every one and everything awaited the arrival of this all-important functionary.

CHAPTER II

M. Flocon, the Chief, was an early man, and he paid a first visit to his office about 7 A.M.

He lived just round the corner in the Rue des Arcs, and had not far to go to the Prefecture.  But even now, soon after daylight, he was correctly dressed, as became a responsible ministerial officer.  He wore a tight frock coat and an immaculate white tie; under his arm he carried the regulation portfolio, or lawyer’s bag, stuffed full of reports, dispositions, and documents dealing with cases in hand.  He was altogether a very precise and natty little personage, quiet and unpretending in demeanour, with a mild, thoughtful face in which two small ferrety eyes blinked and twinkled behind gold-rimmed glasses.  But when things went wrong, when he had to deal with fools, or when scent was keen, or the enemy near, he would become as fierce and eager as any terrier.

He had just taken his place at his table and begun to arrange his papers, which, being a man of method, he kept carefully sorted by lots each in an old copy of the Figaro, when he was called to the telephone.  His services were greatly needed, as we know, at the Lyons station and the summons was to the following effect: 

“Crime on train No. 45.  A man murdered in the sleeper.  All the passengers held.  Please come at once.  Most important.”

A fiacre was called instantly, and M. Flocon, accompanied by Galipaud and Block, the two first inspectors for duty, was driven with all possible speed across Paris.

He was met outside the station, just under the wide verandah, by the officials, who gave him a brief outline of the facts, so far as they were known, and as they have already been put before the reader.

“The passengers have been detained?” asked M. Flocon at once.

“Those in the sleeping-car only—­”

“Tut, tut! they should have been all kept—­at least until you had taken their names and addresses.  Who knows what they might not have been able to tell?”