813

"No."

"Think carefully. I'm not referring to a casual visitor. I mean a man who hides himself, a man whose presence you might have discovered or, less than that, whose presence you might have suspected from some clue or even by some intuition?"

"No… Have you.. ?"

"Yes. Some one is hiding here.. some one is prowling about… Where? And who is it? And what is his object? I don't know.. but I shall know. I already have a suspicion. Do you, on your side, keep your eyes open and watch. And, above all, not a word to Mrs. Kesselbach… It is no use alarming her.."

He went away.

Pierre Leduc, taken aback and upset, went back to the castle. On his way, he saw a piece of blue paper on the edge of the lawn. He picked it up. It was a telegram, not crumpled, like a piece of paper that had been thrown away, but carefully folded: obviously lost.

It was addressed to "Beauny," the name by which Lupin was known at Bruggen. And it contained these words:

"We know the whole truth. Revelations impossible by letter. Will take train to-night. Meet me eight o'clock to-morrow morning Bruggen station."

"Excellent!" said Lupin, who was watching Pierre Leduc's movements from a neighboring coppice. "Excellent! In two minutes from now, the young idiot will have shown Dolores the telegram and told her all my fears. They will talk about it all day. And 'the other one' will hear, 'the other one' will know, because he knows everything, because he lives in Dolores' own shadow and because Dolores is like a fascinated prey in his hands… And, to-night.."

He walked away humming to himself:

"To-night.. to-night.. we shall dance… Such a waltz, my boys! The waltz of blood, to the tune of the little nickel-plated dagger!.. We shall have some fun, at last!."

He reached the chalet, called to Octave, went to his room, flung himself on his bed, and said to the chauffeur:

"Sit down in that chair, Octave, and keep awake. Your master is going to take forty winks. Watch over him, you faithful servant."

He had a good sleep.

"Like Napoleon on the morning of Austerlitz," he said, when he woke up.

It was dinner-time. He made a hearty meal and then, while he smoked a cigarette, inspected his weapons and renewed the charges of his two revolvers:

"Keep your powder dry and your sword sharpened, as my chum the Kaiser says. Octave!"

Octave appeared.

"Go and have your dinner at the castle, with the servants. Tell them you are going to Paris to-night, in the motor."

"With you, governor?"

"No, alone. And, as soon as dinner is over, make a start, ostensibly."

"But I am not to go to Paris.."

"No, remain outside the park, half a mile down the road, until I come. You will have a long wait."

He smoked another cigarette, went for a stroll, passed in front of the castle, saw a light in Dolores' rooms and then returned to the chalet.

There he took up a book. It was The Lives of Illustrious Men.

"There is one missing: the most illustrious of all. But the future will put that right; and I shall have my Plutarch some day or other."

He read the life of Cæsar and jotted down a few reflections in the margin.

At half-past eleven, he went to his bedroom.

Through the open window, he gazed into the immense, cool night, all astir with indistinct sounds. Memories rose to his lips, memories of fond phrases which he had read or uttered; and he repeatedly whispered Dolores's name, with the fervor of a stripling who hardly dares confide to the silence the name of his beloved.

He left the window half open, pushed aside a table that blocked the way, and put his revolvers under his pillow. Then, peacefully, without evincing the least excitement, he got into bed, fully dressed as he was, and blew out the candle.

And his fear began.

It was immediate. No sooner did he feel the darkness around him than his fear began!

"Damn it all!" he cried.

He jumped out of bed, took his weapons and threw them into the passage:

"My hands, my hands alone! Nothing comes up to the grip of my hands!"

He went to bed again. Darkness and silence, once more. And, once more, his fear..

The village clock struck twelve..

Lupin thought of the foul monster who, outside, at a hundred yards, at fifty yards from where he lay, was trying the sharp point of his dagger:

"Let him come, let him come?" whispered Lupin, shuddering. "Then the ghosts will vanish.."

One o'clock, in the village..

And minutes passed, endless minutes, minutes of fever and anguish… Beads of perspiration stood at the roots of his hair and trickled down his forehead; and he felt as though his whole frame were bathed in a sweat of blood..

Two o'clock..

And now, somewhere, quite close, a hardly perceptible sound stirred, a sound of leaves moving.. but different from the sound of leaves moving in the night breeze..

As Lupin had foreseen, he was at once pervaded by an immense calm. All his adventurous being quivered with delight. The struggle was at hand, at last!

Another sound grated under the window, more plainly this time, but still so faint that it needed Lupin's trained ear to distinguish it.

Minutes, terrifying minutes… The darkness was impenetrable. No light of star or moon relieved it.

And, suddenly, without hearing anything, he knew that the man was in the room.

And the man walked toward the bed. He walked as a ghost walks, without displacing the air of the room, without shaking the objects which he touched.

But, with all his instinct, with all his nervous force, Lupin saw the movements of the enemy and guessed the very sequence of his ideas.

He himself did not budge, but remained propped against the wall, almost on his knees, ready to spring.