"Ah," chuckled M. Weber, "this is nice, this is very nice! . . . And I think that this time we've scored . . . and it's a nasty look-out for you, Master Lupin! . . ." He made one of his men draw back the shutters of a large air-hole, which admitted a sudden burst of daylight, and he turned toward Altenheim. But, to his great amazement, the baron, whom he thought dead, opened his eyes, glazed, awful eyes, already filled with all the signs of the coming dissolution. He stared at M. Weber. Then he seemed to look for somebody and, catching sight of Sernine, had a convulsion of anger. He seemed to be waking from his torpor; and his suddenly reviving hatred restored a part of his strength. He raised himself on his two wrists and tried to speak. "You know him, eh?" asked M. Weber. "Yes." "It's Lupin, isn't it?" "Yes. . . . Lupin. . . ." Sernine, still smiling, listened: "Heavens, how I'm amusing myself!" he declared. "Have you anything more to say?" asked M. Weber, who saw the baron's lips making desperate attempts to move. "Yes." "About M. Lenormand, perhaps?" "Yes." "Have you shut him up? Where? Answer! . . ." With all his heaving body, with all his tense glance, Altenheim pointed to a cupboard in the corner of the room. "There . . . there . . ." he said. "Ah, we're burning!" chuckled Lupin. M. Weber opened the cupboard. On one of the shelves was a parcel wrapped in black cloth. He opened it and found a hat, a little box, some clothes. . . . He gave a start. He had recognized M. Lenormand's olive-green frock-coat. "Oh, the villains!" he cried. "They have murdered him!" "No," said Altenheim, shaking his head. "Then . . . ?" "It's he . . . he . . ." "What do you mean by 'he'? . . . Did Lupin kill the chief?" "No. . . ." Altenheim was clinging to existence with fierce obstinacy, eager to speak and to accuse. . . . The secret which he wished to reveal was at the tip of his tongue and he was not able, did not know how to translate it into words. "Come," the deputy-chief insisted. "M. Lenormand is dead, surely?" "No." "He's alive?" "Yes." "I don't understand. . . . Look here, these clothes? This frock-coat? . . ." Altenheim turned his eyes toward Sernine. An idea struck M. Weber: "Ah, I see! Lupin stole M. Lenormand's clothes and reckoned upon using them to escape with. . . ." "Yes . . . yes. . . ." "Not bad," cried the deputy-chief. "It's quite a trick in his style. In this room, we should have found Lupin disguised as M. Lenormand, chained up, no doubt. It would have meant his safety; only he hadn't time. That's it, isn't it?" "Yes . . . yes . . ." But, by the appearance of the dying man's eyes, M. Weber felt that there was more, and that the secret was not exactly that. What was it, then? What was the strange and unintelligible puzzle which Altenheim wanted to explain before dying? He questioned him again: "And where is M. Lenormand himself?" "There. . . ." "What do you mean? Here?" "Yes."