Arsene Lupin. Морис Леблан

doors of it were open, though the lift itself was on some other floor. To the left of the opening stood a book- case, its shelves loaded with books of a kind rather suited to a cultivated, thoughtful man than to an idle dandy.

      Beside the window, half-hidden, and peering through the side of the curtain into the street, stood M. Charolais. But it was hardly the M. Charolais who had paid M. Gournay-Martin that visit at the Chateau de Charmerace, and departed so firmly in the millionaire's favourite motor-car. This was a paler M. Charolais; he lacked altogether the rich, ruddy complexion of the millionaire's visitor. His nose, too, was thinner, and showed none of the ripe acquaintance with the vintages of the world which had been so plainly displayed on it during its owner's visit to the country. Again, hair and eyebrows were no longer black, but fair; and his hair was no longer curly and luxuriant, but thin and lank. His moustache had vanished, and along with it the dress of a well-to-do provincial man of business. He wore a livery of the Charmeraces, and at that early morning hour had not yet assumed the blue waistcoat which is an integral part of it. Indeed it would have required an acute and experienced observer to recognize in him the bogus purchaser of the Mercrac. Only his eyes, his close-set eyes, were unchanged.

      Walking restlessly up and down the middle of the room, keeping out of sight of the windows, was Victoire. She wore a very anxious air, as did Charolais too. By the door stood Bernard Charolais; and his natural, boyish timidity, to judge from his frightened eyes, had assumed an acute phase.

      "By the Lord, we're done!" cried Charolais, starting back from the window. "That was the front-door bell."

      "No, it was only the hall clock," said Bernard.

      "That's seven o'clock! Oh, where can he be?" said Victoire, wringing her hands. "The coup was fixed for midnight… . Where can he be?"

      "They must be after him," said Charolais. "And he daren't come home." Gingerly he drew back the curtain and resumed his watch.

      "I've sent down the lift to the bottom, in case he should come back by the secret entrance," said Victoire; and she went to the opening into the well of the lift and stood looking down it, listening with all her ears.

      "Then why, in the devil's name, have you left the doors open?" cried Charolais irritably. "How do you expect the lift to come up if the doors are open?"

      "I must be off my head!" cried Victoire.

      She stepped to the side of the lift and pressed a button. The doors closed, and there was a grunting click of heavy machinery settling into a new position.

      "Suppose we telephone to Justin at the Passy house?" said Victoire.

      "What on earth's the good of that?" said Charolais impatiently. "Justin knows no more than we do. How can he know any more?"

      "The best thing we can do is to get out," said Bernard, in a shaky voice.

      "No, no; he will come. I haven't given up hope," Victoire protested. "He's sure to come; and he may need us."

      "But, hang it all! Suppose the police come! Suppose they ransack his papers… . He hasn't told us what to do … we are not ready for them… . What are we to do?" cried Charolais, in a tone of despair.

      "Well, I'm worse off than you are; and I'm not making a fuss. If the police come they'll arrest me," said Victoire.

      "Perhaps they've arrested him," said Bernard, in his shaky voice.

      "Don't talk like that," said Victoire fretfully. "Isn't it bad enough to wait and wait, without your croaking like a scared crow?"

      She started again her pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands, and now and again moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

      Presently she said: "Are those two plain-clothes men still there watching?" And in her anxiety she came a step nearer the window.

      "Keep away from the window!" snapped Charolais. "Do you want to be recognized, you great idiot?" Then he added, more quietly, "They're still there all right, curse them, in front of the cafe… . Hullo!"

      "What is it, now?" cried Victoire, starting.

      "A copper and a detective running," said Charolais. "They are running for all they're worth."

      "Are they coming this way?" said Victoire; and she ran to the door and caught hold of the handle.

      "No," said Charolais.

      "Thank goodness!" said Victoire.

      "They're running to the two men watching the house … they're telling them something. Oh, hang it, they're all running down the street."

      "This way? … Are they coming this way?" cried Victoire faintly; and she pressed her hand to her side.

      "They are!" cried Charolais. "They are!" And he dropped the curtain with an oath.

      "And he isn't here! Suppose they come… . Suppose he comes to the front door! They'll catch him!" cried Victoire.

      There came a startling peal at the front-door bell. They stood frozen to stone, their eyes fixed on one another, staring.

      The bell had hardly stopped ringing, when there was a slow, whirring noise. The doors of the lift flew open, and the Duke stepped out of it. But what a changed figure from the admirably dressed dandy who had walked through the startled detectives and out of the house of M. Gournay-Martin at midnight! He was pale, exhausted, almost fainting. His eyes were dim in a livid face; his lips were grey. He was panting heavily. He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length. The sole of his left-hand pump was half off; and his cut foot showed white and red through the torn sock.

      "The master! The master!" cried Charolais in a tone of extravagant relief; and he danced round the room snapping his fingers.

      "You're wounded?" cried Victoire.

      "No," said Arsene Lupin.

      The front-door bell rang out again, startling, threatening, terrifying.

      The note of danger seemed to brace Lupin, to spur him to a last effort.

      He pulled himself together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice: "Your waistcoat, Charolais… . Go and open the door … not too quickly … fumble the bolts… . Bernard, shut the book-case. Victoire, get out of sight, do you want to ruin us all? Be smart now, all of you. Be smart!"

      He staggered past them into his bedroom, and slammed the door. Victoire and Charolais hurried out of the room, through the anteroom, on to the landing. Victoire ran upstairs, Charolais went slowly down. Bernard pressed the button. The doors of the lift shut and there was a slow whirring as it went down. He pressed another button, and the book-case slid slowly across and hid the opening into the lift-well. Bernard ran out of the room and up the stairs.

      Charolais went to the front door and fumbled with the bolts. He bawled through the door to the visitors not to be in such a hurry at that hour in the morning; and they bawled furiously at him to be quick, and knocked and rang again and again. He was fully three minutes fumbling with the bolts, which were already drawn. At last he opened the door an inch or two, and looked out.

      On the instant the door was dashed open, flinging him back against the wall; and Bonavent and Dieusy rushed past him, up the stairs, as hard as they could pelt. A brown-faced, nervous, active policeman followed them in and stopped to guard the door.

      On the landing the detectives paused, and looked at one another, hesitating.

      "Which way did he go?" said Bonavent. "We were on his very heels."

      "I don't know; but we've jolly well stopped his getting into his own house; and that's the main thing," said Dieusy triumphantly.

      "But are you sure it was him?" said Bonavent, stepping into the anteroom.

      "I can swear to it," said Dieusy confidently; and he followed him.

      Charolais came rushing up the stairs and caught them up as they were entering the smoking-room:

      "Here! What's all this?" he cried. "You