in New York that Ballmeyer had, five years before, embarked for
France with some valuable papers belonging to a merchant of New
Orleans whom he had murdered.

And yet the whole of this mystery has not been revealed.
Mademoiselle Stangerson had a child, by her husband,--a son. The
infant was born in the old aunt's house. No one knew of it, so
well had the aunt managed to conceal the event.

What became of that son?--That is another story which, so far, I
am not permitted to relate.

About two months after these events, I came upon Rouletabille sitting
on a bench in the Palais de Justice, looking very depressed.

"What's the matter, old man?" I asked. "You are looking very down.
cast. How are your friends getting on?"

"Apart from you," he said, "I have no friends."

"I hope that Monsieur Darzac--"

"No doubt."

"And Mademoiselle Stangerson--How is she?"

"Better--much better."

"Then you ought not to be sad."