ompany
him on his journey. He begged them to refrain.

He started alone, therefore, in a compartment to himself. He was tired,
thanks to a series of nights devoted to study, and soon fell asleep. He
slept heavily. In his dreams, he had an impression that the train
stopped at different stations and that people got in and out. When he
awoke, within sight of Rouen, he was still alone. But, on the back of
the opposite seat, was a large sheet of paper, fastened with a pin to
the gray cloth. It bore these words:

"Every man should mind his own business. Do you mind yours.
If not, you must take the consequences."

"Capital!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands with delight. "Things are
going badly in the adversary's camp. That threat is as stupid and
vulgar as the sham flyman's. What a style! One can see that it wasn't
composed by Lupin."

The train threaded the tunnel that precedes the old Norman city. On
reaching the station, Isidore took a few turns on the platform to
stretch his legs. He was about to re-enter his compartment, when a cry
escaped him. As he passed the bookstall, he had read, in an
absent-minded way, the following lines on the front page of a special
edition of the Journal de Rouen; and their alarming sense suddenly
burst upon him:

* * * * *

STOP-PRESS NEWS

We hear by telephone from Dieppe that the Chateau d'Ambrumesy was
broken into last night by criminals, who bound and gagged Mlle. de
Gesvres and carried off Mlle. de Saint-Veran. Traces of blood have been
seen at a distance of five hundred yards from the house and a scarf has
been found close by, which is also stained with blood. There is every
reason to fear that the poor young girl has been murdered.

* * * * *

Isidore Beautrelet completed his journey to Dieppe without moving a
limb. Bent in two, with his elbows on his knees and his hands plastered
against his face, he sat thinking.

At Dieppe, he took a fly. At the door of Ambrumesy, he met the
examining magistrate, who confirmed the horrible news.

"You know nothing more?" asked Beautrelet.

"Nothing. I have only just arrived."

At that moment, the sergeant of gendarmes came up to M. Filleul and
handed him a crumpled, torn and discolored piece of paper, which he had
picked up not far from the place where the scarf was found. M. Filleul
looked at it and gave it to Beautrelet, saying:

"I don't suppose this will help u