“Certainly,” replied Morgan; “but be careful. We don’t even know how it is exploded.”
Next day I was in Paris, and took train to Vemeuil l’Étang, some thirty miles from the capital, where I called on the manager of a certain well-known factory.
When I showed him the little cylinder he examined it with minute attention and carefully withdrew some of the mysterious explosive. This he placed under a microscope and a moment later said:
“Monsieur is undoubtedly correct! It is some of our product, herbethite, the invention of our chief director, Mr Herbeth, and the most powerful explosive known to modern science. None has been used in actual work yet, and the only sample that has left our factory is that which was stolen. It is a great secret.”
“Has some been stolen, then?” I asked quickly.
“Yes. Fortunately we discovered the thief—a workman named Pasquet—and we thought we had recovered all that had been taken. Evidently we were wrong and some of the stuff has got into bad hands. Pasquet is awaiting trial by the Assize Court of the Seine.”
I returned to Paris and saw the Minister of Justice, to whom I made a certain proposal. Not without demur, he finally agreed, and I went to the prison armed with authority for a private interview with Pasquet.
I met the thief in a small room in the governor’s quarters of the prison. I found him to be a man of about thirty, quite obviously of the hooligan type, and I soon guessed from his conversation that he had been in the first place the tool of others, who, when they had made use of him, had abandoned him to his fate.
He was naturally resentful and vindictive. I told him I had authority to offer him a free pardon, and a reward which would give him a decent start in life if he would give us the fullest information in his power. He was suspicious, however, and it was not until my promise had been confirmed by the governor of the prison himself that he consented to speak.
His promise once given, he made a clean breast of everything, and his information was so startling that I could hardly credit it. Possibly he saw my incredulity, for he said quietly: “Monsieur will find that I am telling the truth. Why should I lie? My whole life and liberty are in pawn for my veracity.”