"Nothing," said the sergeant, when he finished. "Nothing for you!" grunted M. Lenormand. "That's what I meant to say. . . . I know that, for you, chief, there are things that talk like human beings, real living witnesses. For all that, here is a murder well and duly added to our score against Master Lupin." "The first," observed M. Lenormand. "The first, yes. . . . But it was bound to come. You can't lead that sort of life without, sooner or later, being driven by circumstances to serious crime. Mr. Kesselbach must have defended himself. . . ." "No, because he was bound." "That's true," owned Gourel, somewhat disconcertedly, "and it's rather curious too. . . . Why kill an adversary who has practically ceased to exist? . . . But, no matter, if I had collared him yesterday, when we were face to face at the hall-door . . ." M. Lenormand had stepped out on the balcony. Then he went to Mr. Kesselbach's bedroom, on the right, and tried the fastenings of the windows and doors. "The windows of both rooms were shut when I came in," said Gourel. "Shut, or just pushed to?" "No one has touched them since. And they are shut, chief." A sound of voices brought them back to the sitting-room. Here they found the divisional surgeon, engaged in examining the body, and M. Formerie, the magistrate. M. Formerie exclaimed: "Arsène Lupin! I am glad that at last a lucky chance has brought me into touch with that scoundrel again! I'll show the fellow the stuff I'm made of! . . . And this time it's a murder! . . . It's a fight between you and me now, Master Lupin!" M. Formerie had not forgotten the strange adventure of the Princesse de Lamballe's diadem, nor the wonderful way in which Lupin had tricked him a few years before.[1] The thing had remained famous in the annals of the law-courts. People still laughed at it; and in M. Formerie it had left a just feeling of resentment, combined with the longing for a striking revenge. [Footnote 1: See _Arsène Lupin_. By Edgar Jepson and Maurice Leblanc. (Doubleday, Page & Co.).] "The nature of the crime is self-evident," he declared, with a great air of conviction, "and we shall have no difficulty in discovering the motive. So all is well. . . . M. Lenormand, how do you do? . . . I am delighted to see you. . . ." M. Formerie was not in the least delighted. On the contrary, M. Lenormand's presence did not please him at all, seeing that the chief detective hardly took the trouble to disguise the contempt in which he held him. However, the magistrate drew himself up and, in his most solemn tones: "So, doctor, you consider that death took place about a dozen hours ago, perhaps more! . . . That, in fact, was my own idea. . . . We are quite agreed. . . . And the instrument of the crime?" "A knife with a very thin blade, Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction," replied the surgeon. "Look, the blade has been wiped on the dead man's own handkerchief. . . ."