Fandor went on descending, and first in one place, then in another, he saw on the walls of this chimney whitish patches such as might have been caused by the passage of a heavy mass or body, hanging at the end of a rope, and striking against the walls on its way down. Whilst he still believed himself to be some distance off the end of his downward journey, he felt a point of resistance beneath his feet. At first he mistook it for firm ground, much to his surprise. He was about to leave go of his cord when a remnant of prudence restrained him:
"How do I know there is not an abyss depths upon depths below me—down into the very bowels of the earth! I had better take care!"
What Fandor had taken for firm ground was nothing but an iron staple projecting from the wall. Fandor seized it, stopped for a minute or two's breathing space, ascertained, by drawing it up, that of his cord there were only a few yards remaining; but he also perceived, and with what relief, that from where he was resting, downwards the chimney was, as far as he could see by his lantern's light, marked off into regular spaces by these iron staples which are sometimes placed there for the use of chimney cleaners and masons. Fandor found them a most convenient kind of ladder. The descent now became easy, and in a short time our adventurous journalist reached the bottom of the chimney. At first he could not understand where he had got to. In the thick gloom around him his lantern's gleam of light showed him a kind of vaulted wall of massive masonry. He advanced a step or two with noiseless tread, listening, on the alert. Not a sound could he hear: he decided to expose the full light of his lantern.
The brighter light showed him that the chimney from which he was now standing some yards away ended in a kind of sewer, evidently no longer in use; and the plashing sound he had heard on the far up heights of the Palais roofs proceeded from a thin and muddy stream of water flowing in the middle of the sewer channel in the direction of the Seine. Kneeling at the foot of the chimney Fandor could distinguish marks of steps made by human feet; much deeper and very different indentations were visible also:
"Not only have men passed this way but a short while ago," he murmured, "but they were carrying a heavy burden: there are two kinds of footmarks, made by two kinds of shoes, and the heels have made much deeper marks in the soil than have the tips—yes, these men bore a heavy burden!"
Fandor was so pleased that he mentally rubbed his hands over this discovery. His quest was a success so far: he was on the track of Dollon's body! And what copy for La Capitale! Then a sad thought came to dim his delight:
"Poor, poor Elizabeth Dollon! I swore to her I would get at the truth—and a lamentable truth it is! Her brother is dead: he died in the Dépôt: he was done to death—it was no suicide!"
Whilst talking to himself Fandor was scrutinising every inch of the ground as he moved forward: there might be fresh clues:
"It's a queer kind of sewer," he went on. "This streamlet is as much mud as water, is almost stagnant. Evidently this underground sewer way is no longer used—has been abandoned!"
A horrid spectacle struck him motionless. His lantern made visible a struggling, heaving mass of rats, fighting tooth and claw, enormous rats devouring some hidden thing!
Fandor's stomach rose at the sight.
Oh, horror! Could it be Jacques Dollon's body?
Fandor snatched up a stone and flung it furiously among the unclean beasts. They fled. On the ground he could distinguish a mass, a red, formless mass, saturated with congealed blood:
"Assuredly, if the corpse has disappeared, it is there the assassins must have cut it in pieces, that they might carry it more easily, and those vile creatures are in the thick of feasting on the poor victim's remains! … Pouah!"
Fandor moved on, only to discover another pool of blood almost as large, also besieged by rats:
"Evidently I shall find nothing else," thought Fandor: "the corpse no longer exists!"
He continued his advance, determined to find out what this underground way ended in. His lantern was flickering to a finish when he arrived at the end of the sewer and found, as he had foreseen, that its opening had been cut in the steep bank of the Seine:
"That's a bit of luck! I can get out this way instead of having to climb back the way I came, up to the Palais roof and down again!"
It was still night; darkness reigned save on the far horizon, where a faint, whitish line indicated the early dawn of an April day.
Fandor was just asking himself by what gymnastic feat he could regain the quay, and he was leaning over the opening of the sewer, his body bending far forward over the inky waters of the Seine. Before he had time to turn, before he could regain his balance, a brutal blow from behind half stunned him, and a vigorous thrust precipitated his body into the Seine.
V
MOTHER TOULOUCHE AND CRANAJOUR
"Come along, Cranajour! Let's have a sight of what they've given you for the frock coat and the whole outfit!"
The person thus challenged rummaged in the pockets of his old, much-patched and filthy garments, and after interminable fumblings and huntings, finished by extracting a certain number of silver pieces, which he counted over with the greatest care, finally he replied:
"Seventeen francs, Mother Toulouche."
Mother Toulouche showed her impatience:
"It's details I want! How much for the coat? How much for the whole suit? I've got to know, I tell you! I've got to write it all down, and I've got to see how much I've to hand over to each of the owners of the duds! … Try to remember, Cranajour!"
The individual who answered to this odd appellation reflected. After a silence, shrugging his shoulders, he replied:
"I don't know. I can't make myself remember—not anyhow! … And it's a long time since I sold the goods!"
Mother Toulouche shrugged in turn:
"A long time!" she grumbled. "What a wretched job! Why, it's only two hours since—barely that! … It's true," she went on, with a pitying look at the shabby, down-at-heel fellow, who had spread out his seventeen francs on the table, "it's true that you're known not to have two ha'p'orths of memory, and that at the end of an hour you have forgotten what you've done!"
"That's right enough," answered Cranajour.
"Let's have done with it, then," cried Mother Toulouche.
She held out a repulsive-looking specimen of old clothes:
"Be off with you! Go and pawn this academician's cast-off! When the comrades catch a sight of this bit of stuff to the fore, they'll understand they can come without danger! … No cops about the store on the lookout, are there?"
Mother Toulouche took the precaution to advance to the threshold of her store, cast a rapid glance around—not a suspicious person, nor a sign of one to be seen:
"A good thing," muttered she, "but I was sure of it! Those police spies are going to give us some peace for a bit! … Likely the whole lot of them are on this Dollon business! Isn't it so, Cranajour?"
As she retreated into her store again Mother Toulouche knocked against that individual, who had not budged: he had hung over his arm respectfully the miserable bit of stuff that had been styled an academician's robe:
"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked she