THE EPISODE OF THE BOULEVARD ST.

MARTIN When Charamaule and I reached No.

70, Rue Blanche, a steep lonely street, a man in a sort of naval sub-officer's uniform, was walking up and down before the door.

The portress, who recognized us, called our attention to him.

"Nonsense," said Charamaule, "a man walking about in that manner, and dressed after that fashion, is assuredly not a police spy." "My dear colleague," said I, "Bedeau has proved that the police are blockheads." We went upstairs.