"So the prince is sold?"

"Sold is the word. And he has had to fork out to attain this fine result! Oh, I've had a good time to-night! ... Poor prince!"

"For all that," said the other, "we shall have to get rid of him."

"Make your mind easy, old man; that won't take long. Before a week's out you shall have a present of a pocket-book made out of Lupin-skin. But let me go to bed now. I'm dropping with sleep."

There was a sound of the door closing. Then Sernine heard the baron push the bolt, empty his pockets, wind up his watch and undress. He seemed in a gay mood, whistling and singing, and even talking aloud:

"Yes, a Lupin-skin pocket-book ... in less than a week ... in less than four days! ... Otherwise he'll eat us up, the bully! ... No matter, he missed his shot to-night... . His calculation was right enough, though ... Steinweg was bound to be here... . Only, there you are! ..."

He got into bed and at once switched off the light.

Sernine had come forward as far as the dividing curtain, which he now lifted slightly, and he saw the vague light of the night filtering through the windows, leaving the bed in profound darkness.

He hesitated. Should he leap out upon the baron, take him by the throat and obtain from him by force and threats what he had not been able to obtain by craft? Absurd? Altenheim would never allow himself to be intimidated.

"I say, he's snoring now," muttered Sernine. "Well, I'm off. At the worst, I shall have wasted a night."

He did not go. He felt that it would be impossible for him to go, that he must wait, that chance might yet serve his turn.

With infinite precautions, he took four or five coats and great-coats from their hooks, laid them on the floor, made himself comfortable and, with his back to the wall, went peacefully to sleep.

The baron was not an early riser. A clock outside was striking nine when he got out of bed and rang for his servant.

He read the letters which his man brought him, splashed about in his tub, dressed without saying a word and sat down to his table to write, while Dominique was carefully hanging up the clothes of the previous day in the cupboard and Sernine asking himself, with his fists ready to strike:

"I wonder if I shall have to stave in this fellow's solar plexus?"

At ten o'clock the baron was ready:

"Leave me," said he to the servant.

"There's just this waistcoat... ."

"Leave me, I say. Come back when I ring ... not before."

He shut the door himself, like a man who does not trust others, went to a table on which a telephone was standing and took down the receiver:

"Hullo! ... Put me on to Garches, please, mademoiselle... . Very well, I'll wait till you ring me up... ."

He sat down to the instrument.

The telephone-bell rang.

"Hullo!" said Altenheim. "Is that Garches? ... Yes, that's right.

... Give me number 38, please, mademoiselle... ."

A few seconds later, in a lower voice, as low and as distinct as he could make it, he began:

"Are you 38? ... It's I speaking; no useless words... . Yesterday?

... Yes, you missed him in the garden... . Another time, of course; but the thing's becoming urgent... . He had the house searched last night... . I'll tell you about it... . Found nothing, of course.

... What? ... Hullo! ... No, old Steinweg refuses to speak... .

Threats, promises, nothing's any good... . Hullo! ... Yes, of course, he sees that we can do nothing... . We know just a part of the Kesselbach scheme and of the story of Pierre Leduc... . He's the only one who has the answer to the riddle... . Oh, he'll speak all right; that I'll answer for ... this very night, too ... If not ... What?

... Well, what can we do? Anything rather than let him escape! Do you want the prince to bag him from us? As for the prince, we shall have to cook his goose in three days from now... . You have an idea? ...

Yes, that's a good idea... . Oh, oh, excellent! I'll see to it... .

When shall we meet? Will Tuesday do? Right you are. I'll come on Tuesday ... at two o'clock... . Good-bye."

He replaced the receiver and went out.

A few hours later, while the servants were at lunch, Prince Sernine strolled quietly out of the Villa Dupont, feeling rather faint in the head and weak in the knees, and, while making for the nearest restaurant, he thus summed up the situation:

"So, on Tuesday next, Altenheim and the Palace Hotel murderer have an appointment at Garches, in a house with the telephone number 38. On Tuesday, therefore, I shall hand over the two criminals to the police and set M. Lenormand at liberty. In the evening, it will be old Steinweg's turn; and I shall learn, at last, whether Pierre Leduc is the son of a pork-butcher or not and whether he will make a suitable husband for Genevieve. So be it!"

At eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning Valenglay, the prime minister, sent for the prefect of police and M. Weber, the deputy-chief of the detective-service, and showed them an express letter which he had just received:

"MONSIEUR LE PReSIDENT DU CONSEIL,

"Knowing the interest which you take in M. Lenormand, I am writing to inform you of certain facts which chance has revealed to me.

"M. Lenormand is locked up in the cellars of the Villa des Glycines at Garches, near the House of Retreat.

"The ruffians of the Palace Hotel have resolved to murder him at two o'clock to-day.

"If the police require my assistance, they will find me at half-past one in the garden of the House of Retreat, or at the garden-house occupied by Mrs.

Kesselbach, whose friend I have the honor to be.

"I am, Monsieur le President du Conseil, "Your obedient servant, "PRINCE SERNINE."

"This is an exceedingly grave matter, my dear M. Weber," said Valenglay.

"I may add that we can have every confidence in the accuracy of Prince Sernine's statements. I have often met him at dinner. He is a serious, intelligent man... ."

"Will you allow me, Monsieur le President," asked the deputy-chief detective, "to show you another letter which I also received this morning?"

"About the same case?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

He took the letter and read:

"SIR,

"This is to inform you that Prince Paul Sernine, who calls himself Mrs. Kesselbach's friend, is really Arsene Lupin.

"One proof will be sufficient: _Paul Sernine_ is the anagram of _Arsene Lupin_. Not a letter more, not a letter less.