"Never!"

"But we have no room to pass!"

"We shall get through."

"We can't get through."

"Yes, we can."

"Oh, Lord!"

A crash ... outcries... . The motor had run into the tram-car, cannoned against a fence, torn down ten yards of planking and, lastly, smashed itself against the corner of a slope.

"Driver, are you disengaged?"

Lupin, lying flat on the grass of the slope, had hailed a taxi-cab.

He scrambled to his feet, gave a glance at his shattered car and the people crowding round to Octave's assistance and jumped into the cab:

"Go to the Ministry of the Interior, on the Place Beauvau ... Twenty francs for yourself... ."

He settled himself in the taxi and continued:

"No, no, he shall not die! No, a thousand times no, I will not have that on my conscience! It is bad enough to have been tricked by a woman and to have fallen into the snare like a schoolboy... . That will do! No more blunders for me! I have had that poor wretch arrested... . I have had him sentenced to death... . I have brought him to the foot of the scaffold ... but he shall not mount it! ... Anything but that! If he mounts the scaffold, there will be nothing left for me but to put a bullet through my head."

They were approaching the toll-house. He leant out:

"Twenty francs more, driver, if you don't stop."

And he shouted to the officials:

"Detective-service!"

They passed through.

"But don't slow down, don't slow down, hang it!" roared Lupin. "Faster!

... Faster still! Are you afraid of running over the old ladies? Never mind about them! I'll pay the damage!"

In a few minutes, they were at the Ministry of the Interior. Lupin hurried across the courtyard and ran up the main staircase. The waiting-room was full of people. He scribbled on a sheet of paper, "Prince Sernine," and, hustling a messenger into a corner, said:

"You know me, don't you? I'm Lupin. I procured you this berth; a snug retreat for your old age, eh? Only, you've got to show me in at once.

There, take my name through. That's all I ask of you. The premier will thank you, you may be sure of that ... and so I will... . But, hurry you fool! Valenglay is expecting me... ."

Ten seconds later, Valenglay himself put his head through the door of his room and said:

"Show the prince in."

Lupin rushed into the room, slammed the door and, interrupting the premier, said:

"No, no set phrases, you can't arrest me... . It would mean ruining yourself and compromising the Emperor... . No, it's not a question of that. Look here. Malreich is innocent... . I have discovered the real criminal... . It's Dolores Kesselbach. She is dead. Her body is down there. I have undeniable proofs. There is no doubt possible. It was she... ."

He stopped. Valenglay seemed not to understand.

"But, look here, Monsieur le President, we must save Malreich... .

Only think ... a judicial error! ... An innocent man guillotined!

... Give your orders ... say you have fresh information ...

anything you please ... but, quick, there is no time to lose... ."

Valenglay looked at him attentively, then went to a table, took up a newspaper and handed it to him, pointing his finger at an article as he did so.

Lupin cast his eye at the head-line and read:

"EXECUTION OF THE MONSTER"

"Louis de Malreich underwent the death-penalty this morning... ."

He read no more. Thunderstruck, crushed, he fell into the premier's chair with a moan of despair... .

How long he remained like that he could not say. When he was outside again, he remembered a great silence and then Valenglay bending over him and sprinkling water on his forehead. He remembered, above all, the premier's hushed voice whispering:

"Listen ... you won't say anything about this will you? Innocent, perhaps, I don't say not... . But what is the use of revelations, of a scandal? A judicial error can have serious consequences. Is it worth while? ... A rehabilitation? For what purpose? He was not even sentenced under his own name. It is the name of Malreich which is held up to public execration ... the name of the real criminal, as it happens... . So ..."

And, pushing Lupin gradually toward the door, he said:

"So go... . Go back there... . Get rid of the corpse... . And let not a trace remain, eh? Not the slightest trace of all this business.

... I can rely on you, can I not?"

And Lupin went back. He went back like a machine, because he had been told to do so and because he had no will left of his own.

He waited for hours at the railway-station. Mechanically, he ate his dinner, took a ticket and settled down in a compartment.

He slept badly. His brain was on fire between nightmares and half-waking intervals in which he tried to make out why Malreich had not defended himself:

"He was a madman ... surely ... half a madman... . He must have known her formerly ... and she poisoned his life ... she drove him crazy... . So he felt he might as well die... . Why defend himself?"

The explanation only half satisfied him, and he promised himself sooner or later to clear up the riddle and to discover the exact part which Massier had played in Dolores' life. But what did it matter for the moment? One fact alone stood out clearly, which was Massier's madness, and he repeated, persistently:

"He was a madman ... Massier was undoubtedly mad. Besides, all those Massiers ... a family of madmen... ."

He raved, mixing up names in his enfeebled brain.

But, on alighting at Bruggen Station, in the cool, moist air of the morning, his consciousness revived. Things suddenly assumed a different aspect. And he exclaimed:

"Well, after all, it was his own look-out! He had only to protest... .