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Updated: May 22, 2025
Their patient, Fandor, had just wakened and had cried out: "I'm dying of hunger!" It was about nine o'clock in the morning. After rescuing his friend Fandor from his perilous situation, he had taken the unfortunate journalist to his own home in Rue Richer and called in a physician of the quarter, Doctor Gast.
The commandant felt he must have a breath of fresh air, collect his thoughts, and calm down before resuming conduct of the case. "We shall continue this interrogation in ten minutes' time," he announced and left the room. The short interval had done its work. The commandant had calmed down, Fandor had regained his self-possession.
"Finally, one day, as I had no inkling of what he was really aiming at, Alfred put me on to it!"... The corporal stopped. His throat was strained and dry. Fandor brought him a glass of water, which he swallowed at a gulp. With a grateful look he continued: "'Vinson, said Alfred to me, 'I have confidence in you, and you know how discreet I am!
The portrait represents your Majesty as being taller and heavier, with a larger moustache and fairer hair." "In other words," said Fandor, smiling, "my portrait flatters me." "Oh, Sire, quite the contrary, I assure you." "Well, what do you want?" Wulf was evidently waiting for this question.
Whilst his housekeeper hastened downstairs, Fandor went to the window and, with a questioning glance, considered the dull grey sky. "Disgusting weather!" he murmured. "But what do I care for that? I am going to the sun of the South ah, to the sun!" He laughed a great laugh of satisfaction.
In that case, the band of traitors I pursue, and am on the point of unearthing, will gain enough time to take their bearings, make all their arrangements, and disappear, without counting that this miserable Vinson, who relies on my help, will be caught at once." Suddenly Fandor left his post of observation, shut his window, and went to the telephone.
Luckily I noticed your hands, the only portions of you visible, covered as you were in that confounded hooded thing they muffled you up in.... You must know that the pattern of the veins on the hands is absolutely characteristic and individual; so much so that the anthropometric service in Vienna is entirely based on this principle!... That is how I recognized you, my little Fandor.
Our journalist feigned indifference: it was the best way to draw Juve on, he well knew. "What do you mean, Juve?" "What do I mean, my boy? You shall hear! Do you know who killed Captain Brocq?" "No! Who?" "Fantômas!" At this sinister name Fandor jumped up as though thunderstruck. "Fantômas?... You accuse Fantômas of having killed Captain Brocq?" Juve nodded assent.
"Oh, then, it is out of the question! What a disagreeable business this is!... We shall pass a dreadful night!" The abbé was greatly put out. "No, no! I will leave the room to you!" again protested Fandor. "Do not talk so childishly, Corporal! We have to be on the road again to-morrow.
"There goes the chief spy!" thought Fandor. "Never set eyes on the fellow before, nor heard his voice, either! Now, whom shall I meet to-night at this cursed rendezvous, and what is the business? Some traitorous deviltry, of course!" It was striking seven when Fandor presented himself at the Noret printing works. He rang: he was admitted, and shown into a waiting-room.
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