Before certain establishments Gevrol commanded a halt. He gave a peculiar whistle and almost immediately a man came out. It was another member of the force. His report was listened to, and then the squad passed on.
"To the left, boys!" ordered Gevrol; "we will take the Rue d'Ivry, and then cut through the shortest way to the Rue de Chevaleret."
From this point the expedition became really disagreeable.
Their way led through an unfinished street that had not even been named, full of mud-puddles and deep-holes, and obstructed with all sorts of rubbish.
There were no longer any lights or drinking saloons; no footsteps, no voices; nothing but solitude, gloom and silence.
One might have supposed one's self a hundred leagues from Paris, had it not been for the deep and continuous murmur that always arises from a large city, like the hollow roaring of a torrent in the depths of a cave.
All the men had turned up their pantaloons, and were advancing slowly, picking their way as carefully as an Indian when he is stealing upon his prey.
They had just passed the Rue de Château des-Rentier, when suddenly a wild shriek rent the air.
At this place, and at this hour, this cry was so frightfully significant, that all the men paused as if by common impulse.
"Did you hear that, General?" asked one of the police, in a low voice.
"Yes, there is murder going on not far from here—but where? Silence! let us listen."
They all stood motionless, with anxious ears, hold-
