



Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net








[Illustration: "You are the visitor I was expecting"]




THE INTERNATIONAL
ADVENTURE LIBRARY

[Illustration]

THREE OWLS EDITION

813

BY MAURICE LEBLANC

Author of "Arsene Lupin," "The Blonde Lady,"
"The Hollow Needle," Etc.

_Translated by Alexander Teixeira De Mottos_

W. R. CALDWELL & CO.
NEW YORK

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY MAURICE LEBLANC

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.




      TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

      A zealous reader, collating the translation of this
      book with the original, would hit upon certain
      differences. These are due to alterations made, in
      most case, by the author himself, and, in all cases,
      with his full approval.

      A. T. DE M.

      CHELSEA, England, August, 1910.




    CONTENTS
                                                    CONTENTS
    Translator's Note                                      v
    I.          THE TRAGEDY AT THE PALACE HOTEL            3
    II.         THE BLUE-EDGED LABEL                      31
    III.        M. LENORMAND OPENS HIS CAMPAIGN           55
    IV.         PRINCE SERNINE AT WORK                    75
    V.          M. LENORMAND AT WORK                     114
    VI.         M. LENORMAND SUCCUMBS                    137
    VII.        PARBURY-RIBEIRA-ALTENHEIM                162
    VIII.       THE OLIVE-GREEN FROCK-COAT               192
    IX.         "SANTE PALACE"                           219
    X.          LUPIN'S GREAT SCHEME                     254
    XI.         CHARLEMAGNE                              272
    XII.        THE EMPEROR'S LETTERS                    291
    XIII.       THE SEVEN SCOUNDRELS                     324
    XIV.        THE MAN IN BLACK                         352
    XV.         THE MAP OF EUROPE                        379
    XVI.        ARSENE LUPIN'S THREE MURDERS             405
    EPILOGUE.   THE SUICIDE                              434





813

CHAPTER I

THE TRAGEDY AT THE PALACE HOTEL


Mr. Kesselbach stopped short on the threshold of the sitting-room, took
his secretary's arm and, in an anxious voice, whispered:

"Chapman, some one has been here again."

"Surely not, sir," protested the secretary. "You have just opened the
hall-door yourself; and the key never left your pocket while we were
lunching in the restaurant."

"Chapman, some one has been here again," Mr. Kesselbach repeated. He
pointed to a traveling-bag on the mantelpiece. "Look, I can prove it.
That bag was shut. It is now open."

Chapman protested.

"Are you quite sure that you shut it, sir? Besides, the bag contains
nothing but odds and ends of no value, articles of dress...."

"It contains nothing else, because I took my pocket-book out before we
went down, by way of precaution.... But for that.... No, Chapman,
I tell you, some one has been here while we were at lunch."

There was a telephone on the wall. He took down the receiver:

"Hallo!... I'm Mr. Kesselbach.... Suite 415... That's right.
... Mademoiselle, would you please put me on to the Prefecture of
Police... the detective department.... I know the number... one
second... Ah, here it is! Number 822.48.... I'll hold the line."

A moment later he continued:

"Are you 822.48? I should like a word with M. Lenormand, the chief of
the detective-service. My name's Kesselbach.... Hullo!... Yes, the
chief detective knows what it's about. He has given me leave to ring him
up.... Oh, he's not there?... To whom am I speaking?...
Detective-sergeant Gourel?... You were there yesterday, were you not,
when I called on M. Lenormand? Well, the same thing that I told M.
Lenormand yesterday has occurred again to-day.... Some one has
entered the suite which I am occupying. And, if you come at once, you
may be able to discover some clues.... In an hour or two? All right;
thanks.... You have only to ask for suite 415.... Thank you
again."

       *       *       *       *       *

Rudolf Kesselbach, nicknamed alternatively the King of Diamonds and the
Lord of the Cape, possessed a fortune estimated at nearly twenty
millions sterling. For the past week, he had occupied suite 415, on the
fourth floor of the Palace Hotel, consisting of three rooms, of which
the two larger, on the right, the sitting-room and the principal
bedroom, faced the avenue; while the other, on the left, in which
Chapman, the secretary, slept, looked out on the Rue de Judee.

Adjoining this bedroom, a suite of five rooms had been reserved for Mrs.
Kesselbach, who was to leave Monte Carlo, where she was at present
staying, and join her husband the moment she heard from him.

Rudolf Kesselbach walked up and down for a few minutes with a thoughtful
air. He was a tall man, with a ruddy complexion, and still young; and
his dreamy eyes, which showed pale blue through his gold-rimmed
spectacles, gave him an expression of gentleness and shyness that
contrasted curiously with the strength of the square forehead and the
powerfully-developed jaws.

He went to the window: it was fastened. Besides, how could any one have
entered that way? The private balcony that ran round the flat broke off
on the right and was separated on the left by a stone channel from the
balconies in the Rue de Judee.

He went to his bedroom: it had no communication with the neighboring
rooms. He went to his secretary's bedroom: the door that led into the
five rooms reserved for Mrs. Kesselbach was locked and bolted.

"I can't understand it at all, Chapman. Time after time I have noticed
things here... funny things, as you must admit. Yesterday, my
walking-stick was moved.... The day before that, my papers had
certainly been touched.... And yet how was it possible?...

"It is not possible, sir!" cried Chapman, whose honest, placid features
displayed no anxiety. "You're imagining things, that's all.... You
have no proof, nothing but impressions, to go upon.... Besides, look
here: there is no way into this suite except through the entrance-lobby.
Very well. You had a special key made on the day of our arrival: and
your own man, Edwards, has the only duplicate. Do you trust him?"

"Of course I do!... He's been with me for ten years!... But
Edwards goes to lunch at the same time that we do; and that's a mistake.
He must not go down, in future, until we come back."

Chapman gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. There was no doubt about
it, the Lord of the Cape was becoming a trifle eccentric, with those
incomprehensible fears of his. What risk can you run in an hotel,
especially when you carry no valuables, no important sum of money on you
or with you?

They heard the hall-door opening. It was Edwards. Mr. Kesselbach called
him:

"Are you dressed, Edwards? Ah, that's right!... I am expecting no
visitors to-day, Edwards... or, rather, one visitor only, M. Gourel.
Meantime, remain in the lobby and keep an eye on the door. Mr. Chapman
and I have some serious work to do."

The serious work lasted for a few minutes, during which Mr. Kesselbach
went through his correspondence, read three or four letters and gave
instructions how they were to be answered. But, suddenly, Chapman,
waiting with pen poised, saw that Mr. Kesselbach was thinking of
something quite different from his correspondence. He was holding
between his fingers and attentively examining a pin, a black pin bent
like a fish-hook:

"Chapman," he said, "look what I've found on the table. This bent pin
obviously means something. It's a proof, a material piece of evidence.
You can't pretend now that no one has been in the room. For, after all,
this pin did not come here of itself."

"Certainly not," replied the secretary. "It came here through me."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, it's a pin which I used to fasten my tie to my collar. I took it
out last night, while you were reading, and I twisted it mechanically."

Mr. Kesselbach rose from his chair, with a great air of vexation, took a
few steps and stopped.

"You're laughing at me, Chapman, I feel you are... and you're quite
right.... I won't deny it, I have been rather... odd, since my
last journey to the Cape. It's because... well... you don't know
the new factor in my life... a tremendous plan... a huge thing
... I can only see it, as yet, in the haze of the future... but
it's taking shape for all that... and it will be something colossal.
... Ah, Chapman, you can't imagine.... Money I don't care a fig
for: I have money, I have too much money.... But this, this means a
great deal more; it means power, might, authority. If the reality comes
up to my expectations, I shall be not only Lord of the Cape, but lord of
other realms as well.... Rudolf Kesselbach, the son of the Augsburg
ironmonger, will be on a par with many people who till now have looked
down upon him.... He will even take precedence of them, Chapman; he
will, take precedence of them, mark my words... and, if ever I..."

He interrupted himself, looked at Chapman as though he regretted having
said too much and, nevertheless, carried away by his excitement,
concluded:

"You now understand the reasons of my anxiety, Chapman.... Here, in
this brain, is an idea that is worth a great deal... and this idea
is suspected perhaps... and I am being spied upon.... I'm
convinced of it...."

A bell sounded.

"The telephone," said Chapman.

"Could it," muttered Kesselbach, "by any chance be...?" He took down
the instrument. "Hullo!... Who? The Colonel? Ah, good! Yes, it's I.
... Any news?... Good!... Then I shall expect you.... You
will come with one of your men? Very well.... What? No, we shan't be
disturbed.... I will give the necessary orders.... It's as serious
as that, is it?... I tell you, my instructions will be positive.
... my secretary and my man shall keep the door; and no one shall be
allowed in.... You know the way, don't you?... Then don't lose a
minute."

He hung up the receiver and said:

"Chapman, there are two gentlemen coming. Edwards will show them in.
..."

"But M. Gourel... the detective-sergeant....?"

"He will come later... in an hour.... And, even then, there's no
harm in their meeting. So send Edwards down to the office at once, to
tell them. I am at home to nobody... except two gentlemen, the
Colonel and his friend, and M. Gourel. He must make them take down the
names."

Chapman did as he was asked. When he returned to the room, he found Mr.
Kesselbach holding in his hand an envelope, or, rather, a little
pocket-case, in black morocco leather, apparently empty. He seemed to
hesitate, as though he did not know what to do with it. Should he put
it in his pocket or lay it down elsewhere? At last he went to the
mantelpiece and threw the leather envelope into his traveling-bag:

"Let us finish the mail, Chapman. We have ten minutes left. Ah, a letter
from Mrs. Kesselbach! Why didn't you tell me of it, Chapman? Didn't you
recognize the handwriting?"

He made no attempt to conceal the emotion which he felt in touching and
contemplating that paper which his wife had held in her fingers and to
which she had added a look of her eyes, an atom of her scent, a
suggestion of her secret thoughts. He inhaled its perfume and, unsealing
it, read the letter slowly in an undertone, in fragments that reached
Chapman's ears:

      "Feeling a little tired.... Shall keep my room
      to-day.... I feel so bored.... When can I come
      to you? I am longing for your wire...."

"You telegraphed this morning, Chapman? Then Mrs. Kesselbach will be
here to-morrow, Wednesday."

He seemed quite gay, as though the weight of his business had been
suddenly relieved and he freed from all anxiety. He rubbed his hands and
heaved a deep breath, like a strong man certain of success, like a lucky
man who possessed happiness and who was big enough to defend himself.

"There's some one ringing, Chapman, some one ringing at the hall door.
Go and see who it is."

But Edwards entered and said:

"Two gentlemen asking for you, sir. They are the ones...."

"I know. Are they there, in the lobby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Close the hall-door and don't open it again except to M. Gourel, the
detective-sergeant. You go and bring the gentlemen in, Chapman, and tell
them that I would like to speak to the Colonel first, to the Colonel
alone."

Edwards and Chapman left the room, shutting the door after them. Rudolf
Kesselbach went to the window and pressed his forehead against the
glass.

Outside, just below his eyes, the carriages and motor-cars rolled along
in parallel furrows, marked by the double line of refuges. A bright
spring sun made the brass-work and the varnish gleam again. The trees
were putting forth their first green shoots; and the buds of the tall
chestnuts were beginning to unfold their new-born leaves.

"What on earth is Chapman doing?" muttered Kesselbach. "The time he
wastes in palavering!..."

He took a cigarette from the table, lit it and drew a few puffs. A faint
exclamation escaped him. Close before him stood a man whom he did not
know.

He started back:

"Who are you?"

The man--he was a well-dressed individual, rather smart-looking, with
dark hair, a dark moustache and hard eyes--the man gave a grin:

"Who am I? Why, the Colonel!"

"No, no.... The one I call the Colonel, the one who writes to me
under that... adopted... signature... is not you!"

"Yes, yes... the other was only... But, my dear sir, all this, you
know, is not of the smallest importance. The essential thing is that I
... am myself. And that, I assure you, I _am_!"

"But your name, sir?..."

"The Colonel... until further orders."

Mr. Kesselbach was seized with a growing fear. Who was this man? What
did he want with him?

He called out:

"Chapman!"

"What a funny idea, to call out! Isn't my company enough for you?"

"Chapman!" Mr. Kesselbach cried again. "Chapman! Edwards!"

"Chapman! Edwards!" echoed the stranger, in his turn. "What are you
doing? You're wanted!"

"Sir, I ask you, I order you to let me pass."

"But, my dear sir, who's preventing you?"

He politely made way. Mr. Kesselbach walked to the door, opened it and
gave a sudden jump backward. Behind the door stood another man, pistol
in hand. Kesselbach stammered:

"Edwards... Chap..."

He did not finish. In a corner of the lobby he saw his secretary and his
servant lying side by side on the floor, gagged and bound.

Mr. Kesselbach, notwithstanding his nervous and excitable nature, was
not devoid of physical courage; and the sense of a definite danger,
instead of depressing him, restored all his elasticity and vigor.
Pretending dismay and stupefaction, he moved slowly back to the
chimneypiece and leant against the wall. His hand felt for the electric
bell. He found it and pressed the button without removing his finger.

"Well?" asked the stranger.

Mr. Kesselbach made no reply and continued to press the button.

"Well? Do you expect they will come, that the whole hotel is in
commotion, because you are pressing that bell? Why, my dear sir, look
behind you and you will see that the wire is cut!"

Mr. Kesselbach turned round sharply, as though he wanted to make sure;
but, instead, with a quick movement, he seized the traveling-bag, thrust
his hand into it, grasped a revolver, aimed it at the man and pulled the
trigger.

"Whew!" said the stranger. "So you load your weapons with air and
silence?"

The cock clicked a second time and a third, but there was no report.

"Three shots more, Lord of the Cape! I shan't be satisfied till you've
lodged six bullets in my carcass. What! You give up? That's a pity...
you were making excellent practice!"

He took hold of a chair by the back, spun it round, sat down a-straddle
and, pointing to an arm-chair, said:

"Won't you take a seat, my dear sir, and make yourself at home? A
cigarette? Not for me, thanks: I prefer a cigar."

There was a box on the table: he selected an Upmann, light in color and
flawless in shape, lit it and, with a bow:

"Thank you! That's a perfect cigar. And now let's have a chat, shall
we?"

Rudolf Kesselbach listened to him in amazement. Who could this strange
person be?... Still, at the sight of his visitor sitting there so
quiet and so chatty, he became gradually reassured and began to think
that the situation might come to an end without any need to resort to
violence or brute force.

He took out a pocket-book, opened it, displayed a respectable bundle of
bank-notes and asked:

"How much?"

The other looked at him with an air of bewilderment, as though he found
a difficulty in understanding what Kesselbach meant. Then, after a
moment, he called:

"Marco!"

The man with the revolver stepped forward.

"Marco, this gentleman is good enough to offer you a few bits of paper
for your young woman. Take them, Marco."

Still aiming his revolver with his right hand, Marco put out his left,
took the notes and withdrew.

"Now that this question is settled according to your wishes," resumed
the stranger, "let us come to the object of my visit. I will be brief
and to the point. I want two things. In the first place, a little black
morocco pocket-case, shaped like an envelope, which you generally carry
on you. Secondly, a small ebony box, which was in that traveling-bag
yesterday. Let us proceed in order. The morocco case?"

"Burnt."

The stranger knit his brows. He must have had a vision of the good old
days when there were peremptory methods of making the contumacious
speak:

"Very well. We shall see about that. And the ebony box?"

"Burnt."

"Ah," he growled, "you're getting at me, my good man!" He twisted the
other's arm with a pitiless hand. "Yesterday, Rudolf Kesselbach, you
walked into the Credit Lyonnais, on the Boulevard des Italiens, hiding a
parcel under your overcoat. You hired a safe... let us be exact: safe
No. 16, in recess No. 9. After signing the book and paying your
safe-rent, you went down to the basement; and, when you came up again,
you no longer had your parcel with you. Is that correct?"

"Quite."

"Then the box and the pocket-case are at the Credit Lyonnais?"

"No."

"Give me the key of your safe."

"No."

"Marco!"

Marco ran up.

"Look sharp, Marco! The quadruple knot!"

Before he had even time to stand on the defensive, Rudolf Kesselbach was
tied up in a network of cords that cut into his flesh at the least
attempt which he made to struggle. His arms were fixed behind his back,
his body fastened to the chair and his legs tied together like the legs
of a mummy.

"Search him, Marco."

Marco searched him. Two minutes after, he handed his chief a little
flat, nickel-plated key, bearing the numbers 16 and 9.

"Capital. No morocco pocket-case?"

"No, governor."

"It is in the safe. Mr. Kesselbach, will you tell me the secret cypher
that opens the lock?"

"No."

"You refuse?"

"Yes."

"Marco!"

"Yes, governor."

"Place the barrel of your revolver against the gentleman's temple."

"It's there."

"Now put your finger to the trigger."

"Ready."

"Well, Kesselbach, old chap, do you intend to speak?"

"No."

"I'll give you ten seconds, and not one more. Marco!"

"Yes, governor."

"In ten seconds, blow out the gentleman's brains."

"Right you are, governor."

"Kesselbach, I'm counting. One, two, three, four, five, six..."

Rudolph Kesselbach made a sign.

"You want to speak?"

"Yes."

"You're just in time. Well, the cypher... the word for the lock?"

"Dolor."

"Dolor... Dolor... Mrs. Kesselbach's name is Dolores, I believe?
You dear boy!... Marco, go and do as I told you.... No mistake,
mind! I'll repeat it: meet Jerome at the omnibus office, give him the
key, tell him the word: Dolor. Then, the two of you, go to the Credit
Lyonnais. Jerome is to walk in alone, sign the name-book, go down to the
basement and bring away everything in the safe. Do you quite
understand?"

"Yes, governor. But if the safe shouldn't open; if the word Dolor..."

"Silence, Marco. When you come out of the Credit Lyonnais, you must
leave Jerome, go to your own place and telephone the result of the
operation to me. Should the word Dolor by any chance fail to open the
safe, we (my friend Rudolf Kesselbach and I) will have one... _last_
... interview. Kesselbach, you're quite sure you're not mistaken?"

"Yes."

"That means that you rely upon the futility of the search. We shall see.
Be off, Marco!"

"What about you, governor?"

"I shall stay. Oh, I'm not afraid! I've never been in less danger than
at this moment. Your orders about the door were positive, Kesselbach,
were they not?"

"Yes."

"Dash it all, you seemed very eager to get that said! Can you have been
trying to gain time? If so, I should be caught in a trap like a fool.
..." He stopped to think, looked at his prisoner and concluded, "No
... it's not possible... we shall not be disturbed..."

He had not finished speaking, when the door-bell rang. He pressed his
hand violently on Rudolf Kesselbach's mouth:

"Oh, you old fox, you were expecting some one!"

The captive's eyes gleamed with hope. He could be heard chuckling under
the hand that stifled him.

The stranger shook with rage:

"Hold your tongue, or I'll strangle you! Here, Marco, gag him! Quick!
... That's it!"

The bell rang again. He shouted, as though he himself were Kesselbach
and as though Edwards were still there:

"Why don't you open the door, Edwards?"

Then he went softly into the lobby and, pointing to the secretary and
the manservant, whispered:

"Marco, help me shift these two into the bedroom... over there...
so that they can't be seen."

He lifted the secretary. Marco carried the servant.

"Good! Now go back to the sitting-room."

He followed him in and at once returned to the lobby and said, in a loud
tone of astonishment:

"Why, your man's not here, Mr. Kesselbach.... No, don't move...
finish your letter.... I'll go myself."

And he quietly opened the hall-door.

"Mr. Kesselbach?"

He found himself faced by a sort of jovial, bright-eyed giant, who stood
swinging from one foot to the other and twisting the brim of his hat
between his fingers. He answered:

"Yes, that's right. Who shall I say...?"

"Mr. Kesselbach telephoned.... He expects me...."

"Oh, it's you.... I'll tell him.... Do you mind waiting a minute?
... Mr. Kesselbach will speak to you."

He had the audacity to leave the visitor standing on the threshold of
the little entrance-hall, at a place from which he could see a portion
of the sitting-room through the open door, and, slowly, without so much
as turning round, he entered the room, went to his confederate by Mr.
Kesselbach's side and whispered:

"We're done! It's Gourel, the detective...."

The other drew his knife. He caught him by the arm:

"No nonsense! I have an idea. But, for God's sake, Marco, understand me
and speak in your turn. Speak _as if you were Kesselbach_.... You
hear, Marco! You _are_ Kesselbach."

He expressed himself so coolly, so forcibly and with such authority that
Marco understood, without further explanation, that he himself was to
play the part of Kesselbach. Marco said, so as to be heard:

"You must apologize for me, my dear fellow. Tell M. Gourel I'm awfully
sorry, but I'm over head and ears in work.... I will see him
to-morrow morning, at nine... yes, at nine o'clock punctually."

"Good!" whispered the other. "Don't stir."

He went back to the lobby, found Gourel waiting, and said:

"Mr. Kesselbach begs you to excuse him. He is finishing an important
piece of work. Could you possibly come back at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning?"

There was a pause. Gourel seemed surprised, more or less bothered and
undecided. The other man's hand clutched the handle of a knife at the
bottom of his pocket. At the first suspicious movement, he was prepared
to strike.

At last, Gourel said:

"Very well.... At nine o'clock to-morrow.... But, all the same
... However, I shall be here at nine to-morrow...."

And, putting on his hat, he disappeared down the passage of the hotel.

Marco, in the sitting-room, burst out laughing:

"That was jolly clever of you, governor! Oh, how nicely you spoofed
him!"

"Look alive, Marco, and follow him. If he leaves the hotel, let him be,
meet Jerome at the omnibus-office as arranged... and telephone."

Marco went away quickly.

Then the man took a water-bottle on the chimneypiece, poured himself out
a tumblerful, which he swallowed at a draught, wetted his handkerchief,
dabbed his forehead, which was covered with perspiration, and then sat
down beside his prisoner and, with an affectation of politeness, said:

"But I must really have the honor, Mr. Kesselbach, of introducing myself
to you."

And, taking a card from his pocket, he said: "Allow me.... Arsene
Lupin, gentleman-burglar."

       *       *       *       *       *

The name of the famous adventurer seemed to make the best of impressions
upon Mr. Kesselbach. Lupin did not fail to observe the fact and
exclaimed:

"Aha, my dear sir, you breathe again! Arsene Lupin is a delicate,
squeamish burglar. He loathes bloodshed, he has never committed a more
serious crime than that of annexing other people's property... a mere
peccadillo, eh? And what you're saying to yourself is that he is not
going to burden his conscience with a useless murder. Quite so....
But will your destruction be so useless as all that? Everything depends
on the answer. And I assure you that I'm not larking at present. Come
on, old chap!"

He drew up his chair beside the arm-chair, removed the prisoner's gag
and, speaking very plainly:

"Mr. Kesselbach," he said, "on the day when you arrived in Paris you
entered into relations with one Barbareux, the manager of a confidential
inquiry agency; and, as you were acting without the knowledge of your
secretary, Chapman, it was arranged that the said Barbareux, when
communicating with you by letter or telephone, should call himself 'the
Colonel.' I hasten to tell you that Barbareux is a perfectly honest man.
But I have the good fortune to number one of his clerks among my own
particular friends. That is how I discovered the motive of your
application to Barbareux and how I came to interest myself in you and to
make a search or two here, with the assistance of a set of false keys
... in the course of which search or two, I may as well tell you, I
did not find what I was looking for."

He lowered his voice and, with his eyes fixed on the eyes of his
prisoner, watching his expression, searching his secret thoughts, he
uttered these words:

"Mr. Kesselbach, your instructions to Barbareux were that he should find
a man hidden somewhere in the slums of Paris who bears or used to bear
the name of Pierre Leduc. The man answers to this brief description:
height, five feet nine inches; hair and complexion, fair; wears a
moustache. Special mark: the tip of the little finger of the left hand
is missing, as the result of a cut. Also, he has an almost imperceptible
scar on the right cheek. You seem to attach enormous importance to this
man's discovery, as though it might lead to some great advantage to
yourself. Who is the man?"

"I don't know."

The answer was positive, absolute. Did he know or did he not know? It
made little difference. The great thing was that he was determined not
to speak.

"Very well," said his adversary, "but you have fuller particulars about
him than those with which you furnished Barbareux."

"I have not."

"You lie, Mr. Kesselbach. Twice, in Barbareux's presence, you consulted
papers contained in the morocco case."

"I did."

"And the case?"

"Burnt."

Lupin quivered with rage. The thought of torture and of the facilities
which it used to offer was evidently passing through his mind again.

"Burnt? But the box?... Come, own up... confess that the box is at
the Credit Lyonnais."

"Yes."

"And what's inside it?"

"The finest two hundred diamonds in my private collection."

This statement did not seem to displease the adventurer.

"Aha, the finest two hundred diamonds! But, I say, that's a fortune!
... Yes, that makes you smile.... It's a trifle to you, no doubt.
... And your secret is worth more than that.... To you, yes...
but to me?..."

He took a cigar, lit a match, which he allowed to go out again
mechanically, and sat for some time thinking,