are a hang for form and ceremony and all that nonsense. He will
come, even if it is only out of curiosity, to learn what the Kaiser's
friend can have to say to him. Besides, he knows me! I am not one of
those beggars who inconvenience people for nothing. There's always
something to be gained by meeting me. He'll come!"

But another question at once presented itself to his mind. Valenglay's
coming in no way implied his consent to the bargain which Perenna meant
to propose to him. And even if Don Luis succeeded in convincing him, what
risks remained! How many doubtful points to overcome! And then the
possibilities of failure!

Would Weber pursue the fugitive's motor car with the necessary decision
and boldness? Would he get on the track again? And, having got on the
track, would he be certain not to lose it?

And then--and then, even supposing that all the chances were favourable,
was it not too late? Taking for granted that they hunted down the wild
beast, that they drove him to bay, would he not meanwhile have killed his
prey? Knowing himself beaten, would a monster of that kind hesitate to
add one more murder to the long list of his crimes?

And this, to Don Luis, was the crowning terror. After all the
difficulties which, in his stubbornly confident imagination, he had
managed to surmount, he was brought face to face with the horrible vision
of Florence being sacrificed, of Florence dead!

"Oh, the torture of it!" he stammered. "I alone could have succeeded; and
they shut me up!"

He hardly put himself out to inquire into the reasons for which M.
Desmalions, suddenly changing his mind, had consented to his arrest, thus
bringing back to life that troublesome Arsene Lupin with whom the police
had not hitherto cared to hamper themselves. No, that did not interest
him. Florence alone mattered. And the minutes passed; and each minute
wasted brought Florence nearer to her doom.

He remembered a similar occasion when, some years before, he waited in
the same way for the door of his cell to open and the German Emperor to
appear. But how much greater was the solemnity of the present moment!
Before, it was at the very most his liberty that was at stake. This time
it was Florence's life which fate was about to offer or refuse him.

"Florence! Florence!" he kept repeating, in his despair.

He no longer had a doubt of her innocence. Nor did he doubt that the
other loved her and had carried her off not so much for the hosta