serving Fandor, listening to what he had to say: he
seemed to be reading Fandor's thoughts.

"Your friend, Juve, has been hotly pursuing this Vagualame for some
time," remarked De Naarboveck: "Famous detective as he is, he has
suffered more than one check, has been routed, rebuffed, discomfited,
on several occasions by this same Vagualame, who has proved that he is
not such a fool as he looks! Possibly Juve will soon have a further
opportunity of realising the truth of this--however."...

Fandor interrupted:

"I hope my friend, my dear friend, Juve, does not run any risk!... I
beg of you, Monsieur, to tell me whether he is in danger!... You see,
I am free now."...

"Attention, Monsieur Fandor!" de Naarboveck cut in. "Bear in mind that
you are an escaped prisoner, that your flight must not be known! Be on
your guard, then! As to your friend, Juve, be reassured on that
point!"

Abruptly he changed the subject.

"Vagualame had a collaborator, a young person whom you
know--Mademoiselle Berthe, called Bobinette.... Bobinette has done
wrong, very wrong, but we will speak no more of her--peace to her
memory--she has expiated her crime!"

"Is Bobinette dead, then?" asked Fandor.... Immediately a conviction
seized him that the girl had fallen a victim to this mysterious
assassin whom no one could lay hands on.

The studio clock struck ten.

The lights went out.

Fandor stood startled, in deepest darkness.

Before he could utter an exclamation, move a finger, he was swathed in
a cloth, seized, bound, with the utmost brutality. Mysterious hands
fixed a supple mask on his face, pressed something on his head.
Dragged violently along, the cords cutting his flesh, Fandor realised
his attackers were fastening him to something which held him stiffly
upright. It must be one of the iron columns.

Fandor thought he heard a receding voice mutter: "As Bobinette died,
so shalt thou die--through Fantomas!"

Had he heard aright? Was it some illusion of sense and brain?... Was
it not he himself who had cried it? For Fandor, whose mind had been
full of Vagualame, had, at the moment of attack, spontaneously thought
of Fantomas.

Fandor strained at his bonds and thought of the baron.

"Naarboveck--To me! Help!" he shouted.

No answer came through the darkness.

Did he hear a distant, stifled groan?

Dazzling light flooded the studio.

Fandor, who could see through the eyeholes of the mask, supple as
skin, stared about him