"Paris!" he cried. "Are you taking me to Paris?"
"Those are our orders," was the detective's quiet response.
CHAPTER XVI
THE ORDERS OF HIS EXCELLENCY
Again Paul sat back without a word. Well, he would hear the extraordinary charge against him, whatever it might be. And, without speaking, they travelled on and on, until they at last entered the Porte St. Paul at Verdun, passed up the Avenue de la Gare, skirting the Palais de Justice into the station yard.
As Paul descended they were met by a third stranger who strolled forward—a man in a heavy travelling coat and a soft Homburg hat.
It was the man who had sat behind him earlier in the evening—the man with the deep lines upon his care-worn brow, who had laughed so heartily—and who a moment later introduced himself as Jules Pierrepont, special commissaire of the Paris Sûreté.
"We have met before?" remarked Paul abruptly.