"But there are only ourselves here!" "There's . . . there's . . ." "Oh, speak!" "There's . . . Ser . . . Sernine." "Sernine! . . . Eh, what?" "Sernine . . . Lenormand. . . ." M. Weber gave a jump. A sudden light flashed across him. "No, no, it's not possible," he muttered. "This is madness." He gave a side-glance at his prisoner. Sernine seemed to be greatly diverted and to be watching the scene with the air of a playgoer who is thoroughly amused and very anxious to know how the piece is going to end. Altenheim, exhausted by his efforts, had fallen back at full length. Would he die before revealing the solution of the riddle which his strange words had propounded? M. Weber, shaken by an absurd, incredible surmise, which he did not wish to entertain and which persisted in his mind in spite of him, made a fresh, determined attempt: "Explain the thing to us. . . . What's at the bottom of it? What mystery?" The other seemed not to hear and lay lifeless, with staring eyes. M. Weber lay down beside him, with his body touching him, and, putting great stress upon his words, so that each syllable should sink down to the very depths of that brain already merged in darkness, said: "Listen. . . . I have understood you correctly, have I not? Lupin and M. Lenormand. . . ." He needed an effort to continue, so monstrous did the words appear to him. Nevertheless, the baron's dimmed eyes seemed to contemplate him with anguish. He finished the sentence, shaking with excitement, as though he were speaking blasphemy: "That's it, isn't it? You're sure? The two are one and the same? . . ." The eyes did not move. A little blood trickled from one corner of the man's mouth. . . . He gave two or three sobs. . . . A last spasm; and all was over . . . * * * * * A long silence reigned in that basement room filled with people. Almost all the policemen guarding Sernine had turned round and, stupefied, not understanding or not willing to understand, they still listened to the incredible accusation which the dying scoundrel had been unable to put into words. M. Weber took the little box which was in the parcel and opened it. It contained a gray wig, a pair of spectacles, a maroon-colored neckerchief and, in a false bottom, a pot or two of make-up and a case containing some tiny tufts of gray hair: in short, all that was needed to complete a perfect disguise in the character of M. Lenormand. He went up to Sernine and, looking at him for a few seconds without speaking, thoughtfully reconstructing all the phases of the adventure, he muttered: "So it's true?" Sernine, who had retained his smiling calmness, replied: "The suggestion is a pretty one and a bold one. But, before I answer, tell your men to stop worrying me with those toys of theirs." "Very well," said M. Weber, making a sign to his men. "And now answer." "What?" "Are you M. Lenormand?" "Yes."