his thin features—a grin that widened into a noiseless laugh.
"Master, you are magnificent!" he said, and rose. "Well, if there is nothing further on hand, I shall go to bed."
"An excellent programme," said Jachin Fell, and took his hat from the desk. "I must get some sleep myself."
They left the office and the building together.
Three hours afterward the dawn had set in—a cold, gray, and dismal dawn that rose upon a city littered with the aftermath of carnival. "Lean Wednesday" it was, in sober fact. Thus far, the city in general was ignorant of the tragedy which had taken place at the very conclusion of its gayest carnival season. Within a few hours business and social circles would beswept by the fact of Joseph Maillard's murder, but at this early point of the day the city slept. The morning papers, which to-day carried a news story that promised to shock and stun the entire community, were not yet distributed.
Rising before daylight, Henry Gramont and Hammond breakfasted early and were off by six in the car. They were well outside town
