held out to him. The three men had drawn near the
balcony and their eyes now took in the extent of the ruins. M. Filleul
muttered:

"So he ought to be there."

"HE IS THERE," said Beautrelet, in a hollow voice. "He has been there
ever since the moment when he fell. Logically and practically, he could
not escape without being seen by Mlle. de Saint-Veran and the two
servants."

"What proof have you?"

"His accomplices have furnished the proof. On the very morning, one of
them disguised himself as a flyman and drove you here--"

"To recover the cap, which would serve to identify him."

"Very well, but also and more particularly to examine the spot, find
out and see for himself what had become of the 'governor.'"

"And did he find out?"

"I presume so, as he knew the hiding-place. And I presume that he
became aware of the desperate condition of his chief, because, under
the impulse of his alarm, he committed the imprudence to write that
threat: 'Woe betide the young lady, if she has killed the governor!'"

"But his friends were able to take him away afterward?"

"When? Your men have never left the ruins. And where could they have
moved him to? At most, a few hundred yards away, for one doesn't let a
dying man travel--and then you would have found him. No, I tell you, he
is there. His friends would never have removed him from the safest of
hiding-places. It was there that they brought the doctor, while the
gendarmes were running to the fire like children."

"But how is he living? How will he keep alive? To keep alive you need
food and drink."

"I can't say. I don't know. But he is there, I will swear it. He is
there, because he can't help being there. I am as sure of it as if I
saw as if I touched him. He is there."

With his finger outstretched toward the ruins, he traced in the air a
little circle which became smaller and smaller until it was only a
point. And that point his two companions sought desperately, both
leaning into space, both moved by the same faith in Beautrelet and
quivering with the ardent conviction which he had forced upon them.
Yes, Arsene Lupin was there. In theory and in fact, he was there:
neither of them was now able to doubt it.

And there was something impressive and tragic in knowing that the
famous adventurer was lying in some dark shelter, below the ground,
helpless, feverish and exhausted.

"And if he dies?" asked M. Filleul, in a low voice.

"If he dies," said Beautrelet,