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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Information for a report?" queried Bonnet. "Just so." Fandor drew his "old Bonnet" away from the crowd of eyes and ears around them. They came on an empty little smoking-room. The very place! "Now tell me, my dear Bonnet, have you not been engaged on a recent case the death of a little singer, called."... "Nichoune?... That is so. My first case at Châlons." "Ah!... Now, just tell me!"
"That is not allowed, Nichoune! I have told you so before.... What you do not know you must not try to discover.... I myself do not know all the ins and outs of the organisation!"
Nichoune offered him hospitality: they became lovers. Vinson's heart was in this liaison: he persuaded himself that the chain that bound them was indissoluble. The singer's idea was to profit by it. Her demands for money were constant: she harried her lover for money. Little by little, Vinson's mother cut off supplies: the corporal, incapable of breaking with Nichoune, ran up debts in the town.
"That is as may be!... It seems that on the eve of her death, this Nichoune received a visit from an old man a beggar whom I am unable to identify who has vanished into thin air.... Would you like me to keep you informed? Rue Richer is still your address?" "Yes. It would be awfully kind of you to write when you have any fresh facts to disclose about this case.
I hoped to get sent either to the West or the South; above all, I was bent on leaving the Sixth Corps, on flying from the frontier neighbourhood, and finishing my service in some district or region where it would be impossible for them to make me their spy tool. But, I do not know how was it through Nichoune?
"Oh," cried he, "this is more serious than I thought!... Action must be taken at once!... Nichoune! Nichoune! you are about to play a dangerous game, a game which is likely to cost you dear!" On the first of the envelopes Vagualame had read one word: "Belfort." This was the document he had handed over to the actress the night before.
That being so, he may have murdered Nichoune; but as to incriminating this agent whom we have known a long time ... well ... you have merely a vague indication to go upon ... the kind of reticence, or what you thought was reticence, he wished to maintain regarding his journey to Châlons." "Yes," admitted de Loubersac, "if that were all I had to go upon, it would amount to little."
She remained seated, her gaze fixed on the tips of her shoes, her hands buried in her muff. "Well, what is it? What are you waiting for?" Vagualame repeated. At this Nichoune blazed out: "What the matter is? Why, that I have had enough of all this: I don't want any more of it! Not if I know it! It's too dangerous!" Vagualame appeared stupefied. "What, little one?" he asked very gently.
Then, in a voice quivering with sarcasm, he enquired: "Am I to be permitted to know what it is all about?" "There is no harm in asking that, Monsieur," replied Inspector Michel, in a matter-of-fact tone. "The individual we have come to arrest here is a ruffian, wanted for a couple of murders: that of a Captain Brocq, and that of a little music-hall singer called Nichoune."
Nichoune hesitated, searching with her eyes for the person who had called her in a low, penetrating voice. She was about to continue on her way, when the old fellow half opened his cloak for an instant to give her a glimpse of a bulky kind of a box which was slung across his chest. Immediately the singer went straight towards him. "A programme?" she asked him in a loud voice.
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