of
the Hotel Franklin, a small family-hotel near the Trocadero. Mme. Mergy
had not yet written to him.

"Oh," he said, "I can trust her! She will hang on to Daubrecq until she
is certain."

However, toward the end of the afternoon, he began to grow impatient and
anxious. He was fighting one of those battles--the last, he hoped--in
which the least delay might jeopardize everything. If Daubrecq threw
Mme. Mergy off the scent, how was he to be caught again? They no longer
had weeks or days, but only a few hours, a terribly limited number of
hours, in which to repair any mistakes that they might commit.

He saw the proprietor of the hotel and asked him:

"Are you sure that there is no express letter for my two friends?"

"Quite sure, sir."

"Nor for me, M. Nicole?"

"No, sir."

"That's curious," said Lupin. "We were certain that we should hear from
Mme. Audran."

Audran was the name under which Clarisse was staying at the hotel.

"But the lady has been," said the proprietor.

"What's that?"

"She came some time ago and, as the gentlemen were not there, left a
letter in her room. Didn't the porter tell you?"

Lupin and his friends hurried upstairs. There was a letter on the table.

"Hullo!" said Lupin. "It's been opened! How is that? And why has it been
cut about with scissors?"

The letter contained the following lines:

"Daubrecq has spent the week at the Hotel Central. This morning
he had his luggage taken to the Gare de --- and telephoned to
reserve a berth in the sleeping-car --- for ---

"I do not know when the train starts. But I shall be at the
station all the afternoon. Come as soon as you can, all three
of you. We will arrange to kidnap him."

"What next?" said the Masher. "At which station? And where's the
sleeping-car for? She has cut out just the words we wanted!"

"Yes," said the Growler. "Two snips with the scissors in each place; and
the words which we most want are gone. Who ever saw such a thing? Has
Mme. Mergy lost her head?"

Lupin did not move. A rush of blood was beating at his temples with such
violence that he glued his fists to them and pressed with all his might.
His fever returned, burning and riotous, and his will, incensed to the
verge of physical suffering, concentrated itself upon that stealthy
enemy, which must be controlled then and there, if he himself did not
wish to be irretrievably beaten.

He muttered, very calmly:

"Daubrecq has been here."

"