onceive why you didn't make sure that there
was a train at a quarter to nine. I will not go to Paris to-night.
Nothing shall induce me to take that midnight train!"

"Nonsense!" said the millionaire. "Nonsense--you'll have to go! Where's
that infernal time-table?" He rushed to the table on to which he had
thrown the time-table after looking up the train, snatched it up, and
looked at the cover. "Why, hang it!" he cried. "It's for June--June,
1903!"

"Oh!" cried Germaine, almost in a scream. "It's incredible! It's one of
Jacques' jokes!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE DUKE ARRIVES

The morning was gloomy, and the police-station with its bare,
white-washed walls--their white expanse was only broken by
notice-boards to which were pinned portraits of criminals with details
of their appearance, their crime, and the reward offered for their
apprehension--with its shabby furniture, and its dingy fireplace,
presented a dismal and sordid appearance entirely in keeping with the
September grey. The inspector sat at his desk, yawning after a night
which had passed without an arrest. He was waiting to be relieved. The
policeman at the door and the two policemen sitting on a bench by the
wall yawned in sympathy.

The silence of the street was broken by the rattle of an uncommonly
noisy motor-car. It stopped before the door of the police-station, and
the eyes of the inspector and his men turned, idly expectant, to the
door of the office.

It opened, and a young man in motor-coat and cap stood on the threshold.

He looked round the office with alert eyes, which took in everything,
and said, in a brisk, incisive voice: "I am the Duke of Charmerace. I
am here on behalf of M. Gournay-Martin. Last evening he received a
letter from Arsene Lupin saying he was going to break into his Paris
house this very morning."

At the name of Arsene Lupin the inspector sprang from his chair, the
policemen from their bench. On the instant they were wide awake,
attentive, full of zeal.

"The letter, your Grace!" said the inspector briskly.

The Duke pulled off his glove, drew the letter from the breast-pocket
of his under-coat, and handed it to the inspector.

The inspector glanced through it, and said. "Yes, I know the
handwriting well." Then he read it carefully, and added, "Yes, yes:
it's his usual letter."

"There's no time to be lost," said the Duke quickly. "I ought to have
been here hours ago-hours. I had a break-down. I'm afraid I'm t