They sat down side by side. Mlle. Destange opened a book which she had brought with her and began to read.
"Has your secretary gone?" she said, presently.
"Yes … so it seems...."
"Are you still satisfied with him?" she continued, as if in ignorance of the real secretary's illness and of the arrival of Stickmann in his stead.
"Quite … quite...."
M. Destange's head dropped on his chest. He fell asleep.
A moment elapsed. The girl went on reading. But one of the window curtains was moved aside and the man slipped along the wall, toward the door, an action which made him pass behind M. Destange, but right in front of Clotilde and in such a way that Shears was able to see him plainly. It was Arsène Lupin!
The Englishman quivered with delight. His calculations were correct, he had penetrated to the very heart of the mystery and Lupin was where he had expected to find him.
Clotilde, however, did not stir, although it was impossible that a single movement of that man had escaped her. And Lupin was close to the door and had his arm stretched toward the handle, when his clothes grazed a table and something fell to the ground. M. Destange woke with a start. In a moment, Arsène Lupin was standing before him, smiling, hat in hand.
"Maxime Bermond!" cried M. Destange, in delight. "My dear Maxime!… What stroke of good luck brings you here to-day?"
"The wish to see you and Mlle. Destange."
"When did you come back?"
"Yesterday."
"Are you staying to dinner?"
"Thank you, no, I am dining out with some friends."
"Come to-morrow, then. Clotilde, make him come to-morrow. My dear Maxime!… I was thinking of you only the other day."
"Really?"
"Yes, I was arranging my old papers, in that cupboard, and I came across our last account."
"Which one?"
"The Avenue Henri-Martin account."
"Do you mean to say you keep all that waste paper? What for?"
The three moved into a little drawing-room which was connected with the round library by a wide recess.
"Is it Lupin?" thought Shears, seized with a sudden doubt.
All the evidence pointed to him, but it was another man as well; a man who resembled Arsène Lupin in certain respects and who, nevertheless, preserved his distinct individuality, his own features, look and complexion.
Dressed for the evening, with a white tie and a soft-fronted shirt following the lines of his body, he talked gaily, telling stories which made M. Destange laugh aloud and which brought a smile to Clotilde's lips. And each of these smiles seemed a reward which Arsène Lupin coveted and which he rejoiced at having won. His spirits and gaiety increased and, imperceptibly, at the sound of his clear and happy voice, Clotilde's face brightened up and lost the look of coldness that tended to spoil it.
"They are in love," thought Shears. "But what on earth can Clotilde Destange and Maxime Bermond have in common? Does she know that Maxime is Arsène Lupin?"
He listened anxiously until seven o'clock, making the most of every word spoken. Then, with infinite precautions, he came down and crossed the side of the room where there was no danger of his being seen from the drawing-room.
Once outside, after assuring himself that there was no motor-car or cab waiting, he limped away along the Boulevard Malesherbes. Then he turned down a side street, put on the overcoat which he carried over his arm, changed the shape of his hat, drew himself up and, thus transformed, returned to the square, where he waited, with his eyes fixed on the door of the Hôtel Destange.
Arsène Lupin came out almost at once and walked, down the Rue de Constantinople and the Rue de Londres, toward the centre of the town. Shears followed him at a hundred yards' distance.
It was a delicious moment for the Englishman. He sniffed the air greedily, like a good hound scenting a fresh trail. It really seemed infinitely sweet to him to be following his adversary. It was no longer he that was watched, but Arsène Lupin, the invisible Arsène Lupin. He kept him, so to speak, fastened at the end of his eyes, as though with unbreakable bonds. And he revelled in contemplating, among the other pedestrians, this prey which belonged to him.
But a curious incident soon struck him: in the centre of the space that separated Arsène Lupin and himself, other people were going in the same direction, notably two tall fellows in bowler hats on the left pavement, while two others, in caps, were following on the right pavement, smoking cigarettes as they went.
This might be only a coincidence. But Shears was more surprised when the four men stopped as Lupin entered a tobacconist's shop; and still more when they started again as he came out, but separately, each keeping to his own side of the Chaussée d'Antin.
"Confound it!" thought Shears. "He's being shadowed!"
The idea that others were on Arsène Lupin's track, that others might rob him not of the glory—he cared little for that—but of the huge pleasure, the intense delight of conquering unaided the most formidable enemy that he had ever encountered: this idea exasperated him. And yet there was no possibility of a mistake: the men wore that look of detachment, that too-natural look which distinguishes persons who, while regulating their gait by another's, endeavour to remain unobserved.
"Does Ganimard know more than he pretends?" muttered Shears. "Is he making game of me?"
He felt inclined to accost one of the four men, with a view to acting in concert with him. But as they approached the boulevard, the crowd became denser: he was afraid of losing Lupin and quickened his pace. He turned into the boulevard just as Lupin had his foot on the step of the Restaurant Hongrois, at the corner of the Rue du Helder. The door was open and Shears, sitting on a bench on the boulevard, on the opposite side of the road, saw him take his seat at a table laid with the greatest luxury and decorated with flowers, where he was warmly welcomed by three men in evening clothes and two beautifully-dressed ladies who had been waiting for him.
Shears looked for the four rough fellows and saw them scattered among the groups of people who were listening to the Bohemian band of the neighbouring café. Strange to say, they appeared to be not nearly so much interested in Arsène Lupin as in the people surrounding them.
Suddenly, one of them took a cigarette from his case and addressed a gentleman in a frock-coat and tall hat. The gentleman offered a light from his cigar and Shears received the impression that they were talking at greater length than the mere lighting of a cigarette demanded. At last the gentleman went up the steps and glanced into the restaurant. Seeing Lupin, he walked up to him, exchanged a few words with him and selected a table close at hand; and Shears realized that he was none other than the horseman of the Avenue Henri-Martin.
Now he understood. Not only was Arsène not being shadowed, but these men were members of his gang! These men were watching over his safety! They were his bodyguard, his satellites, his vigilant escort. Wherever the master ran any danger, there his accomplices were, ready to warn him, ready to defend him. The four men were accomplices! The gentleman in the frock-coat was an accomplice!
A thrill passed through the Englishman's frame. Would he ever succeed in laying hands on that inaccessible person? The power represented by an association of this kind, ruled by such a chief, seemed boundless.
He tore a leaf from his note-book, wrote a few lines in pencil, put the note in an envelope and gave it to a boy of fifteen who had lain down on the bench beside him:
"Here, my lad, take a cab and give this letter to the young lady behind the bar at the Taverne Suisse on the Place du Châtelet. Be as quick as you can."
He handed him a five-franc piece. The boy went off.
Half an hour elapsed. The crowd had increased and Shears but occasionally caught sight of Lupin's followers. Then some one grazed against him and a voice said in his ear:
"Well, Mr. Shears, what can I do for you?"
"Is that you, M. Ganimard?"
"Yes; I got your note. What is it?"
"He's there."
"What's that you say?"
"Over there … inside the restaurant.... Move a little to the right.... Do you see him?"
"No."
"He is filling the glass of the lady on his left."
"But that's not Lupin."
"Yes, it is."
"I assure you.... And yet.... Well, it may be.... Oh, the rascal, how like himself he is!" muttered Ganimard, innocently. "And who are the others? Accomplices?"
"No, the lady beside him is Lady Cliveden. The other is the Duchess of Cleath; and, opposite her, is the Spanish Ambassador in London."
Ganimard took a step toward the road. But Shears held him back:
"Don't be so reckless: you are alone."
"So is he."
"No, there are men on the boulevard mounting guard.... Not to mention that gentleman inside the restaurant...."
"But I have only to take him by the collar and shout his name to have the whole restaurant on my side, all the waiters...."
"I would rather have a few detectives."
"That would set Lupin's friends off.... No, Mr. Shears, we have no choice, you see."
He was right and Shears felt it. It was better to make the attempt and take advantage of the exceptional circumstances. He contented himself with saying to Ganimard:
"Do your best not to be recognized before you can help it."
He himself slipped behind a newspaper-kiosk, without losing sight of Arsène Lupin who was leaning over Lady Cliveden, smiling.
The inspector crossed the street, looking straight before him, with his hands in his pockets. But, the moment he reached the opposite pavement, he veered briskly round and sprang up the steps.
A shrill whistle sounded.... Ganimard knocked up against the head-waiter, who suddenly blocked the entrance and pushed him back with indignation, as he might push back any intruder whose doubtful attire would have disgraced the luxury of the establishment. Ganimard staggered. At the same moment, the gentleman in the frock-coat came out. He took the part of the inspector and began a violent discussion with the head-waiter. Both of them had hold of Ganimard, one pushing him forward, the other back, until, in spite of all his efforts and angry protests, the unhappy man was hustled to the bottom of the steps.
A crowd gathered at once. Two policemen, attracted by the excitement, tried to make their way through; but they encountered an incomprehensible resistance and were unable to get clear of the shoulders that pushed against them, the backs that barred their progress.
And, suddenly, as though by enchantment, the way was opened!… The head-waiter, realizing his mistake, made the most abject apologies; the gentleman in the frock-coat withdrew his assistance; the crowd parted, the policemen passed in; and Ganimard rushed toward the table with the six guests.... There were only five left! He looked round: there was no way out except the door.
"Where is the person who was sitting here?" he shouted to the five bewildered guests. "Yes, there were six of you.... Where is the sixth?"
"M. Destro?"
"No, no: Arsène Lupin!"
A waiter stepped up:
"The gentleman has just gone up to the mezzanine floor."
Ganimard flew upstairs. The mezzanine floor consisted of private rooms and had a separate exit to the boulevard!
"It's no use now," groaned Ganimard. "He's far away by this time!"
He was not so very far away, two hundred yards at most, in the omnibus running between the Bastille and the Madeleine, which lumbered peacefully along behind its three horses, crossing the Place de l'Opéra and going down the Boulevard des Capucines. Two tall fellows in bowler hats stood talking on the conductor's platform. On the top, near the steps, a little old man sat dozing: it was Holmlock Shears.
And, with his head swaying from side to side, rocked by the movement of the omnibus, the Englishman soliloquized:
"Ah, if dear old Wilson could see me now, how proud he would be of his chief!… Pooh, it was easy to foresee, from the moment when the whistle sounded that the game was up and that there was nothing serious to be done, except to keep a watch around the restaurant! But that devil of a man adds a zest to life, and no mistake!"
On reaching the end of the journey, Shears leant over, saw Arsène Lupin pass out in front of his guards and heard him mutter:
"At the Étoile."
"The Étoile, just so: an assignation. I shall be there. I'll let him go ahead in that motor-cab, while I follow his two pals in a four-wheeler."
The two pals went off on foot, made for the Étoile and rang at the door of No 40, Rue Chalgrin, a house with a narrow frontage. Shears found a hiding place in the shadow of a recess formed by the angle of that unfrequented little street.
One of the two windows on the ground floor opened and a man in a bowler hat closed the shutters. The window space above the shutters was lit up.
In ten minutes' time, a gentleman came and rang at the same door; and, immediately afterward, another person. And, at last, a motor-cab drew up and Shears saw two people get out: Arsène Lupin and a lady wrapped in a cloak and a thick veil.
"The blonde lady, I presume," thought Shears, as the cab drove away.
He waited for a moment, went up to the house, climbed on to the window-ledge and, by standing on tip-toe, succeeded in peering into the room through that part of the window which the shutters failed to cover.
Arsène Lupin was leaning against the chimney and talking in an animated fashion. The others stood round and listened attentively. Shears recognized the gentleman in the frock-coat and thought he recognized the head-waiter of the restaurant. As for the blonde lady, she was sitting in a chair, with her back turned toward him.
"They are holding a council," he thought. "This evening's occurrences have alarmed them and they feel a need to discuss things.... Oh, if I could only catch them all at one swoop!"
One of the accomplices moved and Shears leapt down and fell back into the shadow. The gentleman in the frock-coat and the head-waiter left the house. Then the first floor was lit up and some one closed the window-shutters. It was now dark above and below.
"He and she have remained on the ground floor," said Holmlock to himself. "The two accomplices live on the first story."
He waited during a part of the night without stirring from his place, fearing lest Arsène Lupin should go away during his absence. At four o'clock in the morning, seeing two policemen at the end of the street, he went up to them, explained the position and left them to watch the house.
Then he went to Ganimard's flat in the Rue Pergolèse and told the servant to wake him.
"I've got him again."
"Arsène Lupin?"
"Yes."
"If you haven't got him any better than you did just now, I may as well go back to bed. However, let's go and see the commissary."
They went to the Rue Mesnil and, from there, to the house of the commissary, M. Decointre. Next, accompanied by half a dozen men, they returned to the Rue Chalgrin.
"Any news?" asked Shears of the two policemen watching the house.
"No, sir; none."
The daylight was beginning to show in the sky when the commissary, after disposing his men, rang and entered the lodge of the concierge. Terrified by this intrusion, the woman, all trembling, said that there was no tenant on the ground floor.
"What do you mean; no tenant?" cried Ganimard.
"No, it's the people on the first floor, two gentlemen called Leroux.... They have furnished the apartment below for some relations from the country...."
"A lady and gentleman?"
"Yes."
"Did they come with them last night?"
"They may have.... I was asleep.... I don't think so, though, for here's the key—they didn't ask for it."
With this key, the commissary opened the door on the other side of the passage. The ground floor flat contained only two rooms: they were empty.
"Impossible!" said Shears. "I saw them both here."
The commissary grinned:
"I dare say; but they are not here now."
"Let us go to the first floor. They must be there."
"The first floor is occupied by two gentlemen called Leroux."
"We will question the two gentleman called Leroux."
They all went upstairs and the commissary rang. At the second ring, a man, who was none other than one of the bodyguards, appeared in his shirt-sleeves and, with a furious air:
"Well, what is it? What's all this noise about; what do you come waking people up for?"
But he stopped in confusion:
"Lord bless my soul!… Am I dreaming? Why, it's M. Decointre!… And you too, M. Ganimard? What can I do for you?"
There was a roar of laughter. Ganimard was splitting with a fit of merriment which doubled him up and seemed to threaten an apoplectic fit:
"It's you, Leroux!" he spluttered out. "Oh, that's the best thing I ever heard: Leroux, Arsène Lupin's accomplice!… It'll be the death of me, I know it will!… And where's your brother, Leroux? Is he visible?"
"Are you there, Edmond? It's M. Ganimard come to pay us a visit."
Another man came forward, at the sight of whom Ganimard's hilarity increased still further:
"Well, I never! Dear, dear me! Ah, my friends, you're in a nice pickle.... Who would have suspected it? It's a good thing that old Ganimard keeps his eyes open and still better that he has friends to help him … friends who have come all the way from England!"
And, turning to Shears, he said:
"Mr. Shears, let me introduce Victor Leroux, detective-inspector, one of the best in the iron brigade.... And Edmond Leroux, head-clerk in the Finger-print Department...."
CHAPTER V
KIDNAPPED
Holmlock Shears restrained his feelings. What was the use of protesting, of accusing those two men? Short of proofs, which he did not possess and which he would not waste time in looking for, no one would take his word.
With nerves on edge and fists tight-clenched, he had but one thought, that of not betraying his rage and disappointment before the triumphant Ganimard. He bowed politely to those two mainstays of society, the brothers Leroux, and went downstairs.
In the hall he turned toward a small, low door, which marked the entrance to the cellar, and picked up a small red stone: it was a garnet.
Outside, he looked up and read, close to the number of the house, the inscription: "Lucien Destange, architect, 1877." He saw the same inscription on No. 42.
"Always that double outlet," he thought. "Nos. 40 and 42 communicate. Why did I not think of it before? I ought to have stayed with the policemen all night."
And, addressing them, he said, pointing to the door of the next house:
"Did two people go out by that door while I was away?"
"Yes, sir; a lady and gentleman."
He took the arm of the chief-inspector and led him along:
"M. Ganimard, you have enjoyed too hearty a laugh to be very angry with me for disturbing you like this …"
"Oh, I'm not angry with you at all."
"That's right. But the best jokes can't go on forever and I think we must put an end to this one."
"I am with you."
"This is our seventh day. It is absolutely necessary that I should be in London in three days hence."
"I say! I say!"
"I shall be there, though, and I beg you to hold yourself in readiness on Tuesday night."
"For an expedition of the same kind?" asked Ganimard, chaffingly.
"Yes, of the same kind."
"And how will this one end?"
"In Lupin's capture."
"You think so."
"I swear it, on my honour."
Shears took his leave and went to seek a short rest in the nearest hotel, after which, refreshed and full of confidence, he returned to the Rue Chalgrin, slipped two louis into the hand of the concierge, made sure that the brothers Leroux were out, learned that the house belonged to a certain M. Harmingeat and, carrying a candle, found his way down to the cellar through the little door near which he had picked up the garnet.
At the foot of the stairs, he picked up another of exactly the same shape.
"I was right," he thought. "This forms the communication.... Let's see if my skeleton-key opens the door of the cellar that belongs to the ground-floor tenant.... Yes, capital.... Now let's examine these wine-bins.... Aha, here are places where the dust has been removed … and footprints on the floor!…"
A slight sound made him prick up his ears. He quickly closed the door, blew out his candle and hid behind a stack of empty wine-cases. After a few seconds, he noticed that one of the iron bins was turning slowly on a pivot, carrying with it the whole of the piece of wall to which it was fastened. The light of a lantern was thrown into the cellar. An arm appeared. A man entered.
He was bent in two, like a man looking for something. He fumbled in the dust with his finger-tips, and, several times, he straightened himself and threw something into a cardboard box which he carried in his left hand. Next, he removed the marks of his footsteps, as well as those left by Lupin and the blonde lady, and went back to the wine-bin.
He gave a hoarse cry and fell. Shears had leapt upon him. It was the matter of a moment and, in the simplest way possible, the man found himself stretched on the floor, with his ankles fastened together and his wrists bound.
The Englishman stooped over him:
"How much will you take to speak?… To tell what you know?"
The man replied with so sarcastic a smile that Shears understood the futility of his question. He contented himself with exploring his captive's pockets, but his investigations produced nothing more than a bunch of keys, a pocket-handkerchief and the little cardboard box used by the fellow and containing a dozen garnets similar to those which Shears had picked up. A poor booty!
Besides, what was he to do with the man? Wait until his friends came to his assistance and hand them all over to the police? What was the good? What advantage could he derive from it against Lupin?
He was hesitating, when a glance at the box made him come to a decision. It bore the address of Léonard, jeweler, Rue de la Paix.
He resolved simply to leave the man where he was. He pushed back the bin, shut the cellar-door and left the house. He went to a post-office and telegraphed to M. Destange that he could not come until the next day. Then he went on to the jeweler and handed him the garnets:
"Madame sent me with these stones. They came off a piece of jewelry which she bought here."
Shears had hit the nail on the head. The jeweler replied:
"That's right.... The lady telephoned to me. She will call here herself presently."
It was five o'clock before Shears, standing on the pavement, saw a lady arrive, wrapped in a thick veil, whose appearance struck him as suspicious. Through the shop-window he saw her place on the counter an old-fashioned brooch set with garnets.
She went away almost at once, did a few errands on foot, walked up toward Clichy and turned down streets which the Englishman did not know. At nightfall, he followed her, unperceived by the concierge, into a five-storeyed house built on either side of the doorway and therefore containing numberless flats. She stopped at a door on the second floor and went in.
Two minutes later, the Englishman put his luck to the test and, one after the other, carefully tried the keys on the bunch of which he had obtained possession. The fourth key fitted the lock.
Through the darkness that filled them, he saw rooms which were absolutely empty, like those of an unoccupied flat, with all the doors standing open. But the light of a lamp filtered through from the end of a passage; and, approaching on tip-toe, through the glass door that separated the drawing-room from an adjoining bedroom he saw the veiled lady take off her dress and hat, lay them on the one chair which the room contained and slip on a velvet tea-gown.
And he also saw her walk up to the chimney-piece and push an electric bell. And one-half of the panel to the right of the chimney moved from its position and slipped along the wall into the thickness of the next panel. As soon as the gap was wide enough, the lady passed through … and disappeared, taking the lamp with her.
The system was a simple one. Shears employed it. He found himself walking in the dark, groping his way; but suddenly his face came upon something soft. By the light of a match, he saw that he was in a little closet filled with dresses and clothes hanging from metal bars. He thrust his way through and stopped before the embrasure of a door closed by a tapestry hanging or, at least, by the back of a hanging. And, his match being now burnt out, he saw light piercing through the loose and worn woof of the old stuff.
Then he looked.
The blonde lady was there, before his eyes, within reach of his hand.
She put out the lamp and turned on the electric switch. For the first time, Shears saw her face in the full light. He gave a start. The woman whom he had ended by overtaking after so many shifts and turns was none other than Clotilde Destange.
Clotilde Destange, the murderess of Baron d'Hautrec and the purloiner of the blue diamond! Clotilde Destange the mysterious friend of Arsène Lupin! The blonde lady, in short!
"Why, of course," he thought, "I'm the biggest blockhead that ever lived! Just because Lupin's friend is fair and Clotilde dark, I never thought of connecting the two women! As though the blonde lady could afford to continue fair after the murder of the baron and the theft of the diamond!"
Shears saw part of the room, an elegant lady's boudoir, adorned with light hangings and valuable knick-knacks. A mahogany settee stood on a slightly-raised platform. Clotilde had sat down on it and remained motionless, with her head between her hands. And soon he noticed that she was crying. Great tears flowed down her pale cheeks, trickled by her mouth, fell drop by drop on the velvet of her bodice. And more tears followed indefinitely, as though springing from an inexhaustible source. And no sadder sight was ever seen than that dull and resigned despair, which expressed itself in the slow flowing of the tears.
But a door opened behind her. Arsène Lupin entered.
They looked at each other for a long time, without exchanging a word. Then he knelt down beside her, pressed his head to her breast, put his arms round her; and there was infinite tenderness and great pity in the gesture with which he embraced the girl. They did not move. A soft silence united them, and her tears flowed less abundantly.
"I so much wanted to make you happy!" he whispered.
"I am happy."
"No, for you're crying. And your tears break my heart, Clotilde."
Yielding, in spite of herself, to the sound of his coaxing voice, she listened, greedy of hope and happiness. A smile softened her face, but, oh, so sad a smile! He entreated her:
"Don't be sad, Clotilde; you have no reason, you have no right to be sad."
She showed him her white, delicate, lissom hands, and said, gravely:
"As long as these hands are mine, Maxime, I shall be sad."
"But why?"
"They have taken life."
Maxime cried:
"Hush, you must not think of that! The past is dead; the past does not count."
And he kissed her long white hands and she looked at him with a brighter smile, as though each kiss had wiped out a little of that hideous memory:
"You must love me, Maxime, you must, because no woman will ever love you as I do. To please you, I have acted, I am still acting not only according to your orders, but according to your unspoken wishes. I do things against which all my instincts and all my conscience revolt; but I am unable to resist.... All that I do I do mechanically, because it is of use to you and you wish it … and I am ready to begin again to-morrow … and always."
He said, bitterly:
"Ah, Clotilde, why did I ever mix you up in my adventurous life? I ought to have remained the Maxime Bermond whom you loved five years ago and not have let you know … the other man that I am."
She whispered very low!
"I love that other man too; and I regret nothing."
"Yes, you regret your past life, your life in the light of day."
"I regret nothing, when you are there!" she said, passionately. "There is no such thing as guilt, no such thing as crime, when my eyes see you. What do I care if I am unhappy away from you and if I suffer and cry and loathe all that I do! Your love wipes out everything.... I accept everything.... But you must love me!"
"I do not love you because I must, Clotilde, but simply because I love you."
"Are you sure?" she asked, trustingly.
"I am as sure of myself as I am of you. Only, Clotilde, my life is a violent and feverish one and I cannot always give you as much time as I should wish."
She at once grew terrified.
"What is it? A fresh danger? Tell me, quick!"
"Oh, nothing serious as yet. Still...."
"Still what…?"
"Well, he is on our track."
"Shears?"
"Yes. It was he who set Ganimard at me at the Restaurant Hongrois. It was he who posted the two policemen in the Rue Chalgrin last night. The proof is that Ganimard searched the house this morning and Shears was with him. Besides...."
"Besides what?"
"Well, there is something more: one of our men is missing, Jeanniot."
"The concierge?"
"Yes."
"Why, I sent him to the Rue Chalgrin this morning to pick up some garnets which had fallen from my brooch."
"There is no doubt about it, Shears has caught him in a trap."
"Not at all. The garnets were brought to the jeweler in the Rue de la Paix."
"Then what has become of Jeanniot since?"
"Oh, Maxime, I'm so frightened!"
"There's no cause for alarm. But I admit that the position is very serious. How much does he know? Where is he hiding? His strength lies in his isolation. There is nothing to betray him."
"Then what have you decided on?"
"Extreme prudence, Clotilde. Some time ago I made up my mind to move my things to the refuge you know of, the safe refuge. The intervention of Shears hastens the need. When a man like Shears is on a trail, we may take it that he is bound to follow that trail to the end. So I have made all my preparations. The removal will take place on the day after to-morrow, Wednesday. It will be finished by midday. By two o'clock I shall be able myself to leave, after getting rid of the last vestige of our occupation, which is no small matter. Until then …"
"Yes…?"