bly. Weber was livid; he shook in every limb and was plainly striving
to contain himself.

Near him stood a couple of journalists and four detectives.

"By Jove! the beggars are there for me!" thought Don Luis. "But their
confusion shows that they did not believe that I should have the cheek to
come. Are they going to arrest me?"

Weber did not move, but in the end his face expressed a certain
satisfaction as though he were saying:

"I've got you this time, my fine fellow, and you shan't escape me."

The office messenger returned and, without a word, led the way for Don
Luis. Perenna passed in front of Weber with the politest of bows,
bestowed a friendly little nod on the detectives, and entered.

The Comte d'Astrignac hurried up to him at once, with hands outstretched,
thus showing that all the tittle-tattle in no way affected the esteem in
which he continued to hold Private Perenna of the Foreign Legion. But the
Prefect of Police maintained an attitude of reserve which was very
significant. He went on turning over the papers which he was examining
and conversed in a low voice with the solicitor and the American
Secretary of Embassy.

Don Luis thought to himself:

"My dear Lupin, there's some one going to leave this room with the
bracelets on his wrists. If it's not the real culprit, it'll be you, my
poor old chap."

And he remembered the early part of the case, when he was in the workroom
at Fauville's house, before the magistrates, and had either to deliver
the criminal to justice or to incur the penalty of immediate arrest. In
the same way, from the start to the finish of the struggle, he had been
obliged, while fighting the invisible enemy, to expose himself to the
attacks of the law with no means of defending himself except by
indispensable victories.

Harassed by constant onslaughts, never out of danger, he had successively
hurried to their deaths Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, two innocent
people sacrificed to the cruel laws of war. Was he at last about to fight
the real enemy, or would he himself succumb at the decisive moment?

He rubbed his hands with such a cheerful gesture that M. Desmalions
could not help looking at him. Don Luis wore the radiant air of a man
who is experiencing a pure joy and who is preparing to taste others
even greater.

The Prefect of Police remained silent for a moment, as though asking
himself what that devil of a fellow could be so pleased with; then he
fumbled