After long thought, he decided that an accusation of poisoning must come from Oloron.  He would go there and work upon “public opinion,” so that, to satisfy the townspeople, the authorities would order a post-mortem examination of Gaston.  But this mode of proceeding required time; and Clameran would certainly escape before another day passed over his head.  He was too experienced a knave to remain on slippery ground, now that his eyes were open to the danger which menaced him.  It was almost dark when the carriage stopped in front of the Hotel du Louvre; M. Verduret noticed a crowd of people collected together in groups, eagerly discussing some exciting event which seemed to have just taken place.  Although the policeman attempted to disperse the crowd by authoritatively ordering them to “Move on!  Move on!” they would merely separate in one spot to join a more clamorous group a few yards off.

“What has happened?” demanded M. Verduret of a lounger near by.

“The strangest thing you ever heard of,” replied the man; “yes, I saw him with my own eyes.  He first appeared at that seventh-story window; he was only half-dressed.  Some men tried to seize him; but, bast! with the agility of a squirrel, he jumped out upon the roof, shrieking, ’Murder! murder!’ The recklessness of his conduct led me to suppose—­”

The gossip stopped short in his narrative, very much surprised and vexed; his questioner had vanished.

“If it should be Clameran!” thought M. Verduret; “if terror has deranged that brain, so capable of working out great crimes!  Fate must have interposed——­”

While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his way through the crowded court-yard of the hotel.

At the foot of the staircase he found M. Fanferlot and three peculiar-looking individuals standing together, as if waiting for someone.

“Well,” cried M. Verduret, “what is the matter?”

With laudable emulation, the four men rushed forward to report to their superior officer.

“Patron,” they all began at once.

“Silence!” said the fat man with an oath; “one at a time.  Quick! what is the matter?”

“The matter is this, patron,” said Fanferlot dejectedly.  “I am doomed to ill luck.  You see how it is; this is the only chance I ever had of working out a beautiful case, and, paf! my criminal must go and fizzle!  A regular case of bankruptcy!”

“Then it is Clameran who—­”

“Of course it is.  When the rascal saw me this morning, he scampered off like a hare.  You should have seen him run; I thought he would never stop this side of Ivry:  but not at all.  On reaching the Boulevard des Ecoles, a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he made a bee-line for his hotel; I suppose, to get his pile of money.  Directly he gets here, what does he see? these three friends of mine.  The sight of these gentlemen had the effect of a sunstroke upon him; he went raving mad on the spot.  The idea of serving me such a low trick at the very moment I was sure of success!”