ery of the teeth of the
tiger would be gradually forgotten.

It was strange, but these last days, which were restless and feverish
like all the days that come before great battles--and every one felt that
this last meeting meant a great battle--were spent by Don Luis in an
armchair on his balcony in the Rue de Rivoli, where he sat quietly
smoking cigarettes, or blowing soap-bubbles which the wind carried toward
the garden of the Tuileries.

Mazeroux could not get over it.

"Chief, you astound me! How calm and careless you look!"

"I am calm and careless, Alexandre."

"But what do you mean? Doesn't the case interest you? Don't you intend to
avenge Mme. Fauville and Sauverand? You are openly accused and you sit
here blowing soap-bubbles!"

"There's no more delightful pastime, Alexandre."

"Shall I tell you what I think, Chief? You've discovered the solution of
the mystery!"

"Perhaps I have, Alexandre, and perhaps I haven't."

Nothing seemed to excite Don Luis. Hours and hours passed; and he did not
stir from his balcony. The sparrows now came and ate the crumbs which he
threw to them. It really seemed as if the case was coming to an end for
him and as if everything was turning out perfectly.

But, on the day of the meeting, Mazeroux entered with a letter in his
hand and a scared look on his face.

"This is for you, Chief. It was addressed to me, but with an envelope
inside it in your name. How do you explain that?"

"Quite easily, Alexandre. The enemy is aware of our cordial relations;
and, as he does not know where I am staying--"

"What enemy?"

"I'll tell you to-morrow evening."

Don Luis opened the envelope and read the following words, written
in red ink:

"There's still time, Lupin. Retire from the contest. If not, it means
your death, too. When you think that your object is attained, when your
hand is raised against me and you utter words of triumph, at that same
moment the ground will open beneath your feet. The place of your death is
chosen. The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin."

Don Luis smiled.

"Good," he said. "Things are taking shape,"

"Do you think so, Chief?"

"I do. And who gave you the letter?"

"Ah, we've been lucky for once, Chief! The policeman to whom it was
handed happened to live at Les Ternes, next door to the bearer of the
letter. He knows the fellow well. It was a stroke of luck, wasn't it?"

Don Luis sprang from his seat, radiant with delight.

"What do you mean? O