“Fantômas.” “What did you say?” “I said: Fantômas.” “And what does that mean?” “Nothing.⁠ ⁠… Everything!” “But what is it?” “Nobody.⁠ ⁠… And yet, yes, it is somebody!” “And what does the somebody do?”...

As his cab turned by the end of the Pont Royal towards the Gare d’Orsay, M. Etienne Rambert looked at his watch and found, as he had anticipated, that he had a good quarter of an hour before the train...

M. de Presles, the examining magistrate in charge of the Court at Brives, had just arrived at the château of Beaulieu, having been notified of the tragedy by the police sergeant stationed at Saint-Jau...

The next day but one after the crime, on the Friday, Louise the cook, who was still terribly upset by the dreadful death of the good mistress in whose service she had been for fifteen years, came down...

Twelve or thirteen miles from Souillac the main line from Brives to Cahors, which flanks the slope, describes a rather sharp curve. The journey is a particularly picturesque one, and travellers who ma...

Hurrying back towards the château with the sergeant, Juve ran into M. de Presles outside the park gate. The magistrate had just arrived from Brives in a motorcar which he had commandeered for his pers...

“Does M. Gurn live here, please?” Mme. Doulenques, the concierge at No. 147 rue Lévert, looked at the enquirer and saw a tall, dark man with a heavy moustache, wearing a soft hat and a tightly buttone...

While Juve was devoting his marvellous skill and incomparable daring to the elucidation of the new case with which the Criminal Investigation Department had entrusted him in Paris, things were marchin...

Society had mustered in force at the Cahors Law Courts, where the Assizes were about to be held. Hooting motorcars and antiquated coaches drawn by pursy horses were arriving every minute, bringing gen...

Four months had passed since Etienne Rambert had been acquitted at the Cahors Assizes, and the world was beginning to forget the Beaulieu tragedy as it had already almost forgotten the mysterious murd...

M. Fuselier was standing in his office in the law courts at Paris, meditatively smoothing the nap of his silk hat. His mind was busy with the enquiries he had been prosecuting during the day, and alth...

The staff of the Royal Palace Hotel were just finishing dinner, and the greatest animation prevailed in the vast white-tiled servants’ hall. The tone of the conversation varied at different tables, fo...

M. Etienne Rambert was in the smoking-room of the house which he had purchased a few months previously in the Place Pereire, rue Eugène-Flachat, smoking and chatting with his old friend Barbey, who al...

After she had so roughly disposed of the enterprising Henri Verbier, whose most unseemly advances had so greatly scandalised her, Mlle. Jeanne took to her heels, directly she was out of sight of the R...

When Dr. Biron built his famous private asylum in the very heart of Passy, intended, according to his prospectus, to provide a retreat for people suffering from nervous breakdown or from overwork or o...

“Boulevard Rochechouart,” said Berthe, the young asylum nurse, to the conductor as she sprang into the tram just as it was starting. It was a September afternoon, one of the last fine days of the now ...

“Pay for a drink, and I’ll listen to you,” said Hogshead Geoffroy to his sister. After numerous visits to the many bars and drinking saloons that surround the markets, they had finally gone for a late...

Juve had spoken in a tone of command that brooked no reply. His keen eyes seemed to pierce through Paul and read his inmost soul. The winking light of the street lamp shed a wan halo round the lad, wh...

Whistling a quickstep, sure sign with him of a light heart, Juve opened the door of the little room where he had left Charles Rambert, and looked at the sleeping lad. “It’s a fine thing to be young,” ...

After the tragic death of her husband, Lady Beltham⁠—whose previous life had inclined to the austere⁠—withdrew into almost complete retirement. The world of gaiety and fashion knew her no more. But in...

It was on the point of midnight, and absolute stillness reigned throughout the house. But Lady Beltham had not gone to bed. Although she had remained in the great hall where she did her work, she had ...

It was three o’clock when Juve arrived at the rue Lévert, and he found the concierge of number 147 just finishing her coffee. Amazed at the results achieved by the detective, the details of which she ...

Jérôme Fandor entered the room without a word. Juve closed the door behind him. The boy was very pale and manifestly much upset. “What is the matter?” said Juve. “Something terrible has happened,” the...

After the preliminary examination as to his identity and so on, Gurn had been transferred to the Santé prison. At first the prisoner seemed to have terrible difficulty in accustoming himself to the ri...

Gurn was walking nervously up and down in his cell after this interview, when the door was pushed open and the cheery face of the warder Nibet looked in. “Evening, Gurn,” he said; “it’s six o’clock, a...

Arriving in good time at the little station at Verrières, where he was about to take a train to Paris to keep his appointment at the Law Courts, the old steward Dollon gave his parting instructions to...

Nibet went off duty at five in the morning, and returned to his own home to go to bed. As a general rule he slept like a top, after a night on duty, but on this occasion he could not close an eye, bei...

“Call Lady Beltham!” It was a perfect May day, and everyone who could pretend, on any conceivable ground, to belong to “Paris” had schemed and intrigued to obtain admission to a trial over which publi...

Once more a wave of sensation ran through the court. There was not a single person present who had not heard of Juve and his wonderful exploits, or who did not regard him as a kind of hero. All leaned...

The final curtain had fallen upon the first performance of the new drama at the Grand Treteau. The night had been one long triumph for Valgrand, and although it was very late the Baronne de Vibray, wh...

Number 22 rue Messier was a wretched one-storeyed house that belonged to a country vinedresser who seldom came to Paris. It was damp, dirty, and dilapidated, and would have had to be rebuilt from top ...

It was still dark. In the keen morning air a crowd came hurrying along the pavements, flowing over into the roadways. The boulevards were black with people, all marching briskly towards one common goa...