ore impressive because it
followed upon a fit of extreme excitement, he put up his revolver and,
from another pocket, produced his note-case.

Daubrecq took a step forward.

The man opened the pocketbook. A sheaf of banknotes appeared in sight.

Daubrecq seized and counted them. They were thousand-franc notes, and
there were thirty of them.

The man looked on, without a movement of revolt, without a protest. He
obviously understood the futility of words. Daubrecq was one of those
who do not relent. Why should his visitor waste time in beseeching
him or even in revenging himself upon him by uttering vain threats
and insults? He had no hope of striking that unassailable enemy. Even
Daubrecq's death would not deliver him from Daubrecq.

He took his hat and went away.

At eleven o'clock in the morning Victoire, on returning from her
shopping, handed Lupin a note from his accomplices.

He opened it and read:

"The man who came to see Daubrecq last night is Langeroux the deputy,
leader of the independent left. A poor man, with a large family."

"Come," said Lupin, "Daubrecq is nothing more nor less than a
blackmailer; but, by Jupiter, he has jolly effective ways of going to
work!"

Events tended to confirm Lupin's supposition. Three days later he saw
another visitor hand Daubrecq an important sum of money. And, two days
after that, one came and left a pearl necklace behind him.

The first was called Dachaumont, a senator and ex-cabinet-minister. The
second was the Marquis d'Albufex, a Bonapartist deputy, formerly chief
political agent in France of Prince Napoleon.

The scene, in each of these cases, was very similar to Langeroux
the deputy's interview, a violent tragic scene, ending in Daubrecq's
victory.

"And so on and so forth," thought Lupin, when he received these
particulars. "I have been present at four visits. I shall know no more
if there are ten, or twenty, or thirty... It is enough for me to learn
the names of the visitors from my friends on sentry-go outside. Shall
I go and call on them?... What for? They have no reason to confide in
me... On the other hand, am I to stay on here, delayed by investigations
which lead to nothing and which Victoire can continue just as well
without me?"

He was very much perplexed. The news of the inquiry into the case
of Gilbert and Vaucheray was becoming worse and worse, the days were
slipping by, and not an hour passed without his asking himself, in
anguish, whe