opening with a trap. Through this he reconnoitred all arrivals,
taking stock of their appearance, and only giving admission when
satisfied as to what he saw.

The Hôtel Paradis, in plain English, was a gambling-house, largely
patronised, yet with an evil reputation. It was well known to, and
constantly watched by, the police, who were always at hand, although
they seldom interfered with the hotel.

But when the porter's wife came shrieking into the street early one
summer's morning, with wildest terror depicted in her face, and
shaking like a jelly, the police felt bound to come to the front.

"Has madame seen a ghost?" asked a stern official in a cocked hat and
sword, accosting her abruptly.

"No, no! Fetch the commissary, quick! A crime has been committed--a
terrible crime!" she gasped.

This was business, and the police-officer knew what he had to do.

"Run, Jules," he said to a colleague. "You know where M. Bontoux
lives. Tell him he is wanted at the Hôtel Paradis." Then, turning to
the woman, he said, "Now, madame, explain yourself."

"It is a murder, I am afraid. A gentleman has been stabbed."

"What gentleman? Where?"

"In the drawing-room, upstairs. I don't know his name, but he came