An order of arrest was at this very moment lying in a certain pigeon-hole at the Préfecture. She had seen it. The name of "Mlle. Fouchette" appeared in the body thereof in big, fat, round letters, and a complete description, age, height, color of hair and eyes, and other particulars appeared across the back of this terrible paper, which was duly signed and ready for service.
A tap of the bell,—a push of an electric button,—and Mlle. Fouchette would be in prison.
There were five distinct counts against her, set forth in ponderous and damning legal phraseology and briefed alphabetically with a precision that carried conviction:
"A.—Vagrant—no home—supposed to have come from Nantes.
"B.—Consort of thieves—confession of life convict called 'le Cochon,' drawer 379, R.M.L. 29.
"C.—Go-between of robbers of the wood of Vincennes and receivers of stolen goods. Confession of M. Podvin, wine merchant, now serving term of twenty-one years for highway robbery, drawer 1210, R.M.L. 70.
"D.—Fugitive from State institution, where sent by lawful authority. See Le Bon Pasteur, Nancy. R.I. 2734.
"E.—Lost or destroyed public document addressed to the Préfecture and confided to her care under her false representation of being an authorized agent of that department of the government."
The service of this dreadful order of arrest, behind which crouched these crimes ready to rise and spring upon her, was suspended by Inspector Loup. For which tenderness and mercy Fouchette was merely to report to the Secret Service bureau in accordance with a preconcerted arrangement.
Second, Madeleine.